


Truth of Feelings

by pelespen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, So much smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelespen/pseuds/pelespen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <img/>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p>Their growing friendship was a secret hidden from all, their deeper feelings kept hidden even from each other. Now, forced into hiding together, an even bigger secret will bring them together, and bring everything to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Hermione Granger is of legal consensual age.
> 
> Written for 2009 Big Bang Blackout
> 
> Lots and lots of smut, and Sirius in a cowboy hat.

Sirius scowled at the fireplace in passing as he paced around his living room, slowly nursing a heavy crystal tumbler of firewhisky over ice. He ignored the soft, delicate chime of the clock on the mantle, refusing to look at it, refusing to acknowledge that it was well past nine o’clock now, and she still hadn’t shown.   
  
Hermione Granger was never late. On the rare occasion when she suspected there might be a possibility of tardiness, a silvery translucent otter would appear, her voice always ringing from it to announce that she might be delayed, and was terribly sorry.  
  
 _So, where the bloody fuck was she?_    
  
With a growl, Sirius shook off the last of his patience and downed the rest of the amber liquid in a long gulp, shuddering slightly at the bitter burn that slid down his throat and shot through his nerves.   
  
The candles on the small dining room table had long since sputtered out, the dinner he’d put together now cold on the two fine china plates laid out in an elegant arrangement. He truly must be a world class fucking fool, and clearly she had figured him out. They’d been ‘friends’ for months now, but this time… this time he’d finally plucked up the nerve to make an actual  _date_  of their frequent dinners together. And obviously, rather than embarrass them both, the curly-haired witch had decided to let him down easy and just not show up.   
  
He wouldn’t floo. Or send a Patronus. She’d made her feelings clear, and that was perfectly fine – he’d be damned if he’d make even more a fool of himself. He’d just blow it off as nothing… whenever he saw her again.  
  
The corners of his mouth pulled down in an unhappy curve as he strode over to the wet bar and snatched the bottle of Ogden’s Finest, not bothering to pour it into his glass, but taking it with him to the wrought iron spiral staircase that led up to the roof.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
An agonized groan rattled from his throat as the midday sun beat down on his head, assaulting his eyes even through their closed lids. Its bright warmth had baked the layer of hung-over funk and sweat on his face and body into a sick moistness.   
  
“Sirius…  _Sirius_ …” Harry’s voice called insistently from Sirius’ fireplace.   
  
With another groan, the older wizard turned his head, facing away from the vast wall of glass that was letting in the cursed rays of light. The fine leather of the large sofa on which he’d slept the night before creaked slightly with the movement.   
  
“SIRIUS!” his godson yelled this time.  
  
“WHAT?” Sirius snarled in response, cracking his eye open just a fraction of a centimetre to see the familiar shock of black hair and glasses in the large fireplace.   
  
“Thank Merlin,” Harry mumbled in relief before he said urgently, “Sirius, it’s Hermione…”  
  
 _Oh,_  Sirius thought, his stomach turning unpleasantly with recollection.  _Her_.   
  
“Yeah, what of her?” he asked, unable to completely mask the hateful bitterness in his voice.  
  
“They got her, Sirius. She was a-attacked. Last night. I’m at St. Mungo’s now…” Harry’s voice was thick and on the verge of cracking.   
  
Sirius felt his whole world plummet through the bottom of his soul. “Move,” he commanded sharply as he hauled himself off the couch, ignoring the jabbing pain in his temple and the nausea that was roiling in his gut. “I’m coming through.”   
  


~

  
  
He stumbled slightly and swallowed hard as he emerged from the public fireplace at St. Mungo’s, the spinning green flames still superimposed on his senses and disagreeing with his hangover. A hand steadied him by his elbow, and when he got his bearings, he was looking into the familiar green eyes of his godson.   
  
“What happened – where is she?” Sirius demanded frantically, ignoring the shocked look on Harry’s face. As far as everyone was concerned, Sirius and Hermione were ‘friendly acquaintances’ at best, but now was not the time to give a damn about appearances.   
  
As they both walked briskly to the lifts, Harry explained.   
  
“A staff member working the nightshift found her on the steps of the Ministry early this morning.” He paused as they came to several muted silver sliding doors, and pressed the button next to one of them. He turned and looked at Sirius directly, his face tense and pale, his green eyes filled with emotion. “What they did to her, Sirius – it was meant to be seen. They wanted to use her as a public example. She… they - well, she was stripped and covered in mud when she was found. She’d lost so much blood by then, the healers said if it’d been much longer she’d be dead.”  
  
Sirius felt a lurch in his stomach and clenched his teeth so hard he felt a sharp pain in his jaw.   
  
“They think she’ll be alright,” Harry continued softly, his own voice uneven. “But they expect her recovery to take a few weeks. From what I overheard of her diagnosis, it sounded like one of the curses they used was something similar to what Dolohov threw back in the Ministry battle. It took her a few weeks then, but she’s strong - she’ll get through. But Sirius… ”  
  
With a soft chime the door to the lifts opened and they stepped in.   
  
“They’ll be looking to finish the job,” Sirius finished grimly as the doors slid shut.  
  
Harry took a deep breath. “We’re already understaffed, and I’ve got every Auror who’s worth a damn out on this case. We’re close, but now that they’re publicly attacking Muggle-borns, I can’t afford any of my men.”  
  
“Tell me what to do,” Sirius said quietly, training his voice to be calm. He wanted nothing more than to hunt down the sick fucks who did this to his little bookworm.   
  
 _Not ‘yours’_ , a little voice in his head corrected, but his rage quickly told it to fuck off.   
  
“Security here is too weak,” Harry answered carefully. “I know you probably won’t like this, but I need you to understand – you’re the only one I trust to protect her, and once word gets out that she’s being kept here…”  
  
Sirius looked at the dingy floor of the lift, feeling suddenly awkward and shamefully dishonest. Hermione was precious to everyone in their circle – it was her intelligence and initiative that got Harry through the war, her quick-thinking that saved Ron and Harry from disaster a number of times, and yet they all regarded her as this innocent and sometimes helpless little flower. He couldn’t fault them for their protectiveness – he felt much the same. But if it ever came to light that big, bad Sirius Black had his eyes on their girl… and here Harry was asking  _him_  to protect her. The irony was almost laughable.  
  
“Please, Sirius,” Harry continued when his godfather didn’t answer. “I’ll come and relieve you when I can, but you know I wouldn’t even trust Ron with this. I’m asking as a personal favour – the Ministry will post guards outside of her room, but it’s not much – not enough, anyway. This is far more important to me than having you run off to hunt down wannabe Death Eaters.”   
  
Sirius looked up then, meeting Harry’s gaze. The once-gangly son of his best friend now stood eye-to-eye with him in height, so much like James but a bit broader in the shoulders. The worry and pleading look he found in those eyes, always so eerily identical to Lily’s, made him feel like a heel. Did Harry really think he’d even consider saying ‘No’?  
  
He frowned incredulously. “Of course I’ll do it, Harry,” he answered softly. “Think nothing of it.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said, relaxing visibly and smiling with relief. His tone was filled with far more meaning than the word could convey.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Sirius gazed unhappily at the unconscious figure surrounded in sterile white. From the bed linens, to the pillow, to the floors and walls, everything around her was completely devoid of colour, making her dark brown curls stand out in stark contrast.   
  
She was pale, too pale in his opinion, even after two weeks of Blood Replenishing Potions and nutrient treatments. Even the light dusting of tiny freckles across her pert nose was faded, nearly unnoticeable except to him. He’d of course long since memorized those little specks, could practically count each one in his mind’s eye.   
  
Once the healers had made the official declaration that “it was only a matter of time” before Hermione Granger would regain consciousness, everyone had relaxed quite a bit, affording him more time alone with her prone form, which in turn gave him more than enough time to brood over his feelings for the witch.   
  
It was only a handful of weeks ago that he’d finally admitted to himself he actually  _had_ feelings for her, aside from just a healthy male appreciation for beauty. Before that, he’d done a fairly decent job of staying in denial, even as their friendship unfurled like a sweet, exotic wildflower.   
  
At first it was just the amused realization that the swotty little teenager who played mother hen to Harry and Ron had grown into quite a lovely looking young witch. Of course, this realization came at wand-point on the day of his return, with the brunette’s eyes blazing and demanding who in the hell he really was and why was he impersonating a dead man.   
  
He’d quietly watched her since then, over the better part of a year, really, convinced it was harmless voyeurism, nothing more. The fact that she was still Hermione Granger and he was still Sirius Black served as a safeguard against his covert admiration developing into anything more. They had a mutual respect for each other, but otherwise there was a thick and vast wall between them. He was the flippant and arrogant womanizer and she was the cool professional - still a know-it-all and still responsible almost to a fault. They had so little in common that it was easy enough to keep his interest in her under wraps. He’d be blind not to notice her, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever pursue her.  
  
 _Harmless voyeurism._  
  
Until that one particular summer night a few months ago... Apparently it was to be ‘girls night out’ after the Order meeting adjourned that evening, and Hermione had arrived dressed in leather and silk, the usual business-like bun she wore abandoned for a loose, wild mane of bedroom curls, her sleeveless blouse dipping down just low enough to entice his imagination with a glimpse of creamy smooth softness. Everything down to the way her lips pursed around the lip of a bottle of butterbeer hit him like a ton of bricks, and his memories of her as a child skittered away like marbles across the floor. That was when he truly noticed her as a woman - gorgeous, intelligent, empowered, and absolutely fucking sexy. That was when it hit him that he  _wanted_  her.  
  
Of course, she’d been even more off-limits then, as she was still with that bumbling redheaded twit. Sirius liked Ron Weasley well enough on his own, but he never really understood what Hermione was doing with him, and was secretly relieved when she finally broke it off with him.   
  
Relief had quickly turned into a deep-seated pleasure however, when she surprised him by appearing on his doorstep the night she dumped Ron. For whatever reason, she’d sought out Sirius as a confidante - not exactly as a shoulder to cry on, but certainly as someone to bitch to and pour the alcohol. It was unexpected to say the least, but Sirius was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.   
  
From that point forward, the walls between them seemed a lot thinner. They actually had conversations, ones that often ran late into the night. He discovered that she had a depth and soul to her far beyond schooling and tomes, and while her sense of humour had caught him off guard initially, once he started paying attention it became a whole other layer to enjoy. Little offhand remarks the others attributed to her quirky intelligence went right over everyone’s heads, but Sirius had to fight back his own laughter many times as he caught the secretive twinkle in her eye sharing her tiny unspoken jokes with him.  
  
He didn’t know if it truly happened that slowly, or if he’d just forced a blind eye to it this whole time, but the depth of his feelings for her dawned on him in one brilliant and jarring flash. He’d invited her to accompany him to visit Teddy and Andromeda just a few Saturdays ago. Perhaps it was something about the light, or the way she smiled as she picked up the toddler, letting him pull on tiny fistfuls of her curly hair. But he’d suddenly found himself breathless with yearning of a completely new and different kind. He wanted that picture to be  _his_ , wanted that free smile of hers and warm sense of family – he wanted it like a drug, and he  _only_  wanted it with her.   
  
Sirius sighed and glanced back down at the open book in his hands, attempting to pick up where he left off. The healers had recommended since he was keeping watch over her, that he speak or read to her fairly regularly to keep her mind stimulated while her body recovered. When he’d given a detailed list of her favourite books to Harry for him to retrieve from Hermione’s flat, the younger wizard merely raised an eyebrow, which Sirius had ignored.   
  
He told himself that he didn’t care – after all he’d been through, after half his life spent shut away or fighting the war on foreign soil while the few friends and loved ones he had believed he was dead, didn’t he deserve something, some kind of happiness? And he really  _didn’t_  care – so what if she was young enough to be his daughter? So what if she was his godson’s best friend? Harry was a grown man – he could and would get over it.  
  
Of course, it was another story entirely, being faced with the entire Order, friends and surrogate family, as they crowded into that small hospital room in a panic over  _their_ Hermione. Seeing how they all fawned over her, how genuinely worried they all were, how protective and angry they were… Molly had even gone so far as to question Harry’s decision in asking Sirius to keep guard over ‘her girl’. He’d been surprised at the little twinge of hurt he’d felt while she wheedled and fussed as though Sirius wasn’t even in the room.   
  
He didn’t give a damn about what Molly thought of him personally. But the fact that his suitability was questioned, and that question was echoed by the others – in one brief moment Sirius felt once more like an outcast. And, if he wasn’t welcomed or trusted just as a fucking security guard over an unconscious witch, how would they react to his romantic interest in the young woman? How would  _she_  react? If she was even remotely interested, the fury and judgment that would rain down on them both would be enough to make her regret it, he was certain. He couldn’t do that to her. If he was really honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could handle her certain rejection in that scenario, either.  
  
And so, Sirius came to his decision as the well-worn copy of  _Jane Eyre_  fell from his fingers into his lap.   
  
“I can’t do it, kitten,” he whispered, slipping his hand beneath hers and softly stroking the tops of her knuckles. “If you had any idea how much I want… and I can’t. I hope you’ll understand.”  
  
The soft click of the heavy door alerted Sirius to Harry’s arrival, and he discreetly slid his hand away from Hermione’s.   
  
“How is she?” Harry asked softly.  
  
“Same.” Sirius tried to make his voice sound the way he thought it should – like a concerned uncle, perhaps – close enough to care and be sensitive to others’ concern, but otherwise strong and detached.   
  
Harry wasn’t fooled. “You look like shite, Sirius. I’ll stay with her. Go get some rest, or a shower at least.”   
  
Sirius stared in consideration at Harry’s green gaze. Did he know? And what if he did? It didn’t change anything, not really. He sighed and gave a wordless nod, setting the book on the bedside table and hoisting himself up out of the uncomfortable chair.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
Despite the fact that it was mid-day, his eyes should have fallen shut before his head hit the pillow. The Auror Department had found a strong lead, which meant Sirius had been at the hospital doing guard dog duty for twenty plus hours before Harry was able to  
relieve him. And yet, he could only stare at the exposed pipes and rafters of the bedroom ceiling in his warehouse flat.   
  
Sirius was disgusted with himself. How could he have let himself fall for such an impossibility? How could he have let himself fall for anyone, period? He’d been single his whole life – even when he wasn’t incarcerated by the Ministry or the Order or wrapped up in that fucking war, he never let himself get tied down by any one witch. Well, not figuratively…   
  
He was too old for this shit. And yet – she made him feel so young, so alive in ways no easy shag or casual affair ever managed, even when he was young.   
  
Sirius let out a frustrated exhale and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. Instead, there was that flash of exposed back he’d once glimpsed when she was reaching for a book on an upper shelf in his library. Completely innocent, and yet ever since then he’d so often dreamt of running his tongue along that tiny indent just above her pert little arse. Then he’d wonder what kind of sounds she’d make if he did so, and he’d remember the chocolate cheesecake they’d shared one night when she’d stayed after an Order meeting to help clean up. The little moan of ecstasy she’d made around the first forkful, and those delectable lips that slid along the tines, the way her tongue darted out daintily to lick the bit that was at the corner of her mouth…   
  
Gritting his teeth, he tried to summon the guilt and reason needed to beat back the sequence of images that had fed his fantasies for months now, but they wouldn’t be deterred. Finally, rolling his eyes at himself he swung his legs over the side of the bed and loped to the bathroom. He hadn’t had a decent wank in too fucking long, and he’d let himself have this one last send-off before pushing the bright little witch out of his senses and heart for good.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
As the last image of Hermione naked and crying out his name beneath him faded from behind his eyelids, he gave one final shudder beneath the hot streams of water, rinsing any evidence of his desire down the drain.   
  
Sirius heaved a sigh, opened his eyes, and jumped with a start at the large silvery apparition of a stag waiting patiently just outside the glass shower door. He swore softly, grateful that a Patronus could neither see nor hear its audience. When he opened the door and looked directly at the image, Harry’s excited voice rang clear.   
  
“Sirius! Hermione’s awake – she came to shortly after you left, and she’s… well, she asked for you. They’re checking her over now, and Mrs. Weasley and the others are already on their way, but yeah – as soon as you can, I guess!”   
  
He watched the stag disappear in a wisp of light and stared into the now empty space in front of him. She was conscious, and,  _dear Morgana_ , he was utterly relieved. But she was not - would never be -  _his_. She belonged to their little circle, the circle of Weasleys and Order members and Hogwarts friends, not to him.  
  
Unhappiness and shame at his selfishness curled into a miserable black knot in his stomach as he stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed a towel to dry off. Walking over to the sink and staring into the mirror, he suddenly felt old.   
  
 _Cowardly old fool_ , he thought, his lips curling downward at the grey-eyed face that stared wretchedly back at him. Never in all his years had he given up on a conquest.  
  
 _But she’s not a ‘conquest’_ , he reminded himself. That was the problem. He knew, had known for quite some time, that she found him attractive. Attractive enough that with the right words and right moves, he could have had her almost as easily as any other woman he’d bedded. Never mind that there’d have been a line of witches and wizards waiting to hex his balls off had he tried it, the truth was, he didn’t want her ‘that’ way. Well, not  _just_  that way. He wanted her in ways he wasn’t used to. Ways he used to tease James mercilessly about, ways he once believed were not for him. Ways no one seemed to believe were ‘for him.’  
  
Now, as his eyes took in the evidence of his years, he wondered how different his life might have turned out had he taken it a little more seriously in his youth. What if he’d tried to actually love someone instead of just fucking around the way he had? If he hadn’t been so careless, so reckless not only with his behaviour, but with people’s feelings, would he have lost so many years to Azkaban? Surely someone would have spoken for him?   
  
He never completely forgave the remaining members of the original Order of the Phoenix. Azkaban prisoners had practically zero visitation rights, but Dumbledore surely had enough pull and influence to bypass that. And yet no one ever questioned Sirius’ arrest, not even so much as a suggestion to the old man of something as simple as a goddamned sip of Veritaserum.   
  
Granted, Sirius wouldn’t have given two shits but for the fact that meanwhile, that filthy little rat ran around free after handing James and Lily and Harry to Voldemort. Sirius knew his poor judgment was just as much to blame for their deaths, and he’d had every intention that night of becoming a murderer to avenge them, so Azkaban had seemed ironically fitting in the heat of the moment. Of course, he’d been incredibly arrogant and stupid, thinking he didn’t care about the terrors that awaited him in the middle of that cold stormy sea. By the time he’d experienced enough of the Dementors to change his mind and cry to be heard, it was too late.   
  
Not even Remus had spoken to Dumbledore on his behalf. However, where it used to be an irritating little thorn in his side, now Sirius only wondered what kind of person he must have been for no one to have cared enough to bother.   
  
He frowned suddenly, his thoughts distracted by the sight of silver peeking through the jet black of his hair. With an irritated sneer, he mussed it just enough to hide those few grey strands. He couldn’t erase the lines that showed around his eyes and mouth and brow, however. He stared unhappily, indulging himself in one last moment of self-pity before shaking his head in disgust and reaching for his razor.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
As he rounded the corner near Hermione’s room, the door swung open briefly, letting out a small wave of voices. Sirius could make out Molly’s fussing over top of everyone else. He imagined she was scolding them all for being too loud, too boisterous, and too many at once in the small room. It was one of the very rare occasions he would actually have to agree with the redheaded matriarch.   
  
The healer’s assistant, whom had just exited the room, spotted him.   
  
“Hello again, Mister Black,” the pert blonde witch said in a sing-song voice, smiling winningly up at him. She couldn’t have been much older than Hermione, but she’d been less than discreet about flirting with Sirius every chance she got. He’d only been annoyed at this before, but now he wondered with a bitter resignation if he shouldn’t chat her up for her floo address on his way out.   
  
“Hullo again to you too… Inger,” he said with a forced smile, surprised he even remembered her name. “How’s our patient?”  
  
Her perfectly-shaped eyebrows shot up slightly. “Actually, she’s made a remarkable recovery. Your godson is filling out her release papers now. I hope this doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again,” she added with a playful pout.   
  
Sirius bit back a smirk. She was a cute little thing, but about as appealing as candy fluff, with just as much substance. “Now, now, love,” he teased. “You never know when I might cut my finger or stub my toe,” he said with a half-hearted wink and turned to the door he was dreading.  
  
He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to compose himself, pulling together a cool mask and that flippant air that was apparently a Sirius Black trademark. The muted sounds of laughter seeped through the heavy steel door just before he turned the knob and pushed it open.   
  
The first acknowledgment of his presence was Molly’s soft but unmistakable cluck of disapproval.   
  
“And here they already said we were over capacity,” she chided.   
  
“Yeah, but Hermione’s special,” George answered with a grin.   
  
“Sirius.”  
  
His eyes fell on the slight figure now propped up against several pillows. Her gaze was filled with so much warmth, and he felt an ache in his soul as her lips curled into that secret smile she only ever gave him. He wanted so badly to run to her, wrap her in his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He wanted to tell her how sick he was with worry because she was more precious to him than life itself.   
  
But he didn’t. He dropped his gaze to the foot of her bed and composed himself as quickly as possible.   
  
“No worries, Molly, I’m only popping in for a second. Glad to see you’re up, Hermione,” he said easily, impressed with how casual he really sounded.   
  
“Yeah,” George teased from his perch at the window. “He’s glad to see you’re up so he can finally get a break from starin’ at ya.”   
  
Ginny nudged her older brother with an admonishing frown before casting a glance at Hermione. “He kept watch over you every minute that Harry couldn’t be here, you know,” she said in a quiet but frank tone.  
  
Ron snorted. “That’s just because he’s the only one of us without a job or responsibilities,” he said, his words followed by a tense silence.  
  
Sirius clenched his teeth and stared at the blanket covering Hermione’s feet. He could barely breathe for all his stifled thoughts and feelings. He had to get out of there. Of course, storming out would cause almost as much confusion and drama as gracing the derisive comment with what he really wanted to say to the sore loser. Instead, he took a breath and quirked his lips into what he hoped was a careless smirk.   
  
“Well, you know me,” was all he could say, not quite keeping the steel out of his voice.  
  
“Oh, hey, Sirius,” George piped in, changing the subject, “I ran into Celeste Goldstone the other day. She wanted me to pass along that you still have that rain check to settle.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.   
  
Fighting the urge to sneer in distaste, Sirius grabbed his opportunity. “Speaking of, I should probably get going,” he said coolly. “Hermione – glad you’re getting better,” he added with a short nod.   
  
Hermione had been silent this whole time. When he hazarded a glance at her, the hurt and confusion was clear as day in her soft brown eyes. He knew it wasn’t even the mention of the upper-class socialite who’d been subtly chasing Sirius for months. It was the coldness of his words and actions in those few short minutes, where only weeks ago there was always an undercurrent, a secretive wink or a warm glance. Feeling his gut twist unhappily, he figured it was just as well – hurting her feelings now would help put up that wall again, making it easier to stay away long enough to get over her.  
  
As he turned and pulled the door open to leave, he heard her say in a small, bewildered voice, “Sirius?”  
  
His pause was almost imperceptible before he straightened his shoulders and forced himself out of the room, hearing Molly gently remind Hermione that it was Friday night, after all, and Sirius probably had a date.  
  
Forcing himself not to slam his fist into the wall, he strode angrily away from the room filled with Weasleys, Order members, and Hermione, focusing his intent on a very large bottle of booze and a long night alone on his rooftop. When he reached the lifts, he punched the button so hard that the assistant exiting the restrooms down the hall gave him a sharp look.  
  
“SIRIUS!” a male voice called from behind him.  
  
“WHAT?” Sirius snarled, turning just in time to see Harry stop in his tracks, startled at his snappish reply.   
  
“Are you alright?” he asked. “I called after you three times and you didn’t answer.”  
  
Sirius sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Harry. Just – tired I suppose.”  
  
He felt his godson’s strong hand squeeze his shoulder and opened his eyes again to find a deeply worried frown on the younger wizard’s face.   
  
“No. I’m sorry, Sirius,” Harry replied. “I know this has been hard on you, too.” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. It was a gesture Sirius had come to know well, one that meant big news, or heavy conversations, and never were they pleasant.  
  
“What is it?” he asked, his ire and self-disgust dissolving into concern. “New developments?”  
  
“Let’s find a room to talk,” he answered, jerking his head toward one of the doors lining the hallway.   
  
When they found a vacant examination room, Sirius leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, waiting. Harry sealed off the door with high security locking and silencing charms before turning to his godfather.   
  
“They’re releasing Hermione tonight,” he began, and held up his hand before Sirius could speak. “The press has already been sneaking around, and I saw one of the assistants talking to Skeeter not long ago.”  
  
“Where is the Auror department on those leads?” Sirius asked, tense with protectiveness.  
  
Harry shook his head. “They were all a dead end. One of them literally – the Creeveys got hit last night. Both parents were killed, and they hit Dennis with something that stripped his magic. It was only temporary, but they’ve been spreading rumours that they can strip Muggleborns. If this gets out - and it will - maintaining public calm is going to take almost all of our resources.”  
  
“But we already have evidence that that’s impossible. Hermione’s research - ”  
  
“Which is why we need to get her out of the country,” Harry interrupted. “The minute it hits the papers that she’s been released, they’ll be back in full force. You have no idea how many cursed gifts we’ve blocked since it went public she was here, Sirius. They just kept coming, not because I think they were really trying to sneak them through, but to keep us distracted and to send a message. They were letting us know they have no intention of stopping until they take her down.”  
  
“Where are you going to send her? She’s not fit to travel tonight, you know,” Sirius said, conflicted. The idea of sending Hermione away was sound and really seemed to be the only option. He was furious that she was being released so soon, however, and now that her attackers were bound to know of it in less than twenty-four hours, he felt they were trapped.   
  
“We don’t know yet. I’m going to talk with her about it – she’ll probably have a better idea of where to go. In the meantime, I was hoping she could stay at your flat. It’s the only place they have no idea about yet.”   
  
“Of course,” Sirius answered, despite the dull ache forming between his eyebrows. The idea of Hermione staying with him,  _now_ , turned his thoughts and feelings into an unpleasant whirlpool. Like the idea of getting her out of the country, however, it was a valid request – both Harry’s house and the Burrow were unplottable as well, but their general locations had become known over time. All one had to do was make a simple blunder, Apparate a hair off target, and they’d be found. The location of Sirius’ warehouse was so secret that not even Order members could get there by Apparition.   
  
“There’s one more thing, though,” Harry said as Sirius straightened to leave.   
  
Sirius didn’t like the sound of this.   
  
Harry took a deep breath. “Listen, Sirius,” he began, his voice deep with sincerity. “I – I know how you probably felt, being asked to stay behind and keep watch. If it was anyone but Hermione… Well, there’s nothing I’d like more than to have you out there with us, with me, helping to hunt these fuckers down. We could really use you. You, and Padfoot as well.”  
  
There was a ‘but’ coming, Sirius knew, and a really huge one at that. “Harry, I know how much she means to you, to everyone. I probably wouldn’t have been happy with just anyone keeping guard either,” he said.  
  
“Which is why I’m asking you…” Harry gave a tense sigh. “I can’t –  _won’t_  have her go alone…”  
  
When Sirius comprehended what Harry was talking about, a wave a panic came over him and he shook his head without thinking. He couldn’t do this – pretending he didn’t have feelings for her was hard enough when they were surrounded by ‘the pack’. Being around her in general was like walking on a tightrope without a net. While drunk. He needed to eradicate these hopeless emotions for the young witch, and he had already planned the means, and they involved copious amounts of booze and multiple witches.   
  
“ _Please_ , Sirius.” It was a statement, not a question. “I know I’ve already asked a lot of you, and I can’t say there’s anyone else I’d be willing to trust now regardless. But we have everyone we can afford on this case - ”  
  
“Don’t be daft, Harry,” Sirius interrupted tiredly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right – there is no other way to do this. Even if there were, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to you.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Thank you. Kingsley’s already got someone drawing up the necessary documents and Muggle ID’s to get you both out. Once the Healer has checked Hermione over again and supplied her with her follow-up potions, we’ll floo to your place. If we can, I’d like to have you both on a plane by tomorrow. She might need your help – physically, depending on how well she’s recovered. Are you going back to your flat now?”  
  
Sirius shook his head. He needed a drink. Several. And a hard, easy shag if possible. “Get her to make a list of things she needs from her flat, and have Molly or Ginny pack them. I’m going to see Ollivander – find some way to get her a wand before we go.”  
  
Harry beamed at him then. “Brilliant. She was bloody furious about that bit in particular.”   
  
Sirius couldn’t summon the will to even fake enthusiasm. He raised an eyebrow. “Are we done?”  
  
At Harry’s nod, he drew himself up and headed to the lifts, his heart heavy and cursing himself for falling so hard for the impossible.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
_Karma._  
  
It was something Lily used to preach to him periodically, usually right after she’d caught wind of some bird who’d mistaken a good time for something meaningful with him. He always laughed it off as another silly religious concept designed to keep the flock in line. ‘Do something bad, and something worse will happen to you.’   
  
Now however, as he gazed into the inky night waters of the Thames, Sirius wondered if there wasn’t something to it.   
  
He couldn’t stop thinking about it all evening. He thought he’d left those hurts behind – it was so long ago, and nearly everyone who had turned their back on him had passed away, most in one of the two wars. It wasn’t something that could be changed or fixed, and having lost so many years already, Sirius knew that life was too short to dwell on such things.   
  
But it wasn’t his anger over it that haunted him now. Rather, it was the sickening thought that after all this time, what if he genuinely deserved it, what if they had every reason to turn their backs on him?   
  
He wasn’t a bad person - he knew that. He’d always fought the ‘good’ fight, and he was always willing to die for those he called ‘friend.’ But when it came to simple, day-to-day life… well, he was selfish.  _Self-entitled_.   
  
Even before Azkaban, his shitty home life and his family’s rejection of him spurred him to flaunt and rebel all throughout his school years and beyond. His belief in what was good and right he felt gave him the prerogative to be an arse to those who didn’t follow the same path. Not that Snivellus didn’t deserve much of what he had coming to him, but Sirius  _had_  nearly gotten him killed. And look where that had led. It had been a harsh betrayal of Remus’ trust, and had set in place a permanent vendetta with the greasy little bat.   
  
After Azkaban, Sirius had outright admitted he felt entitled – yes,  _entitled_  – to people’s respect, as well as their trust. Life ‘owed’ him. With the exception of Harry, he’d been so bitter and self-involved - angry at the world. And while perhaps he had every right to be, looking back now he realized that he’d done next to nothing to endear himself to anyone. Even after the second war, returning from the front lines at Durmstrang where Dumbledore had sent him while faking his death, he’d felt it was enough – he had sacrificed half his life to war and unjust imprisonment, and he owed no one a thing.   
  
Was it any wonder they all seemed to have a less than stellar regard for him? Even Harry seemed to assume he didn’t care, didn’t really want to help. The boy had practically begged him to protect Hermione before Sirius even had a chance to say yes.   
  
Off in the distance, he could hear the Clock Tower chiming. It was two in the morning. True to form, he’d left everything in Harry’s hands while he went off to drink and fuck and brood. The only one of those he’d actually managed, however, was the third. After double-checking the security on his flat and making sure the spare bedroom was in decent shape, he’d left, not planning on returning that evening. He wanted to avoid Hermione at all costs. She would want to talk, if not about his poor behaviour then about their travel plans, and he just couldn’t, not yet.  
  
Once she was settled in, Sirius met up with Harry, who relayed the details of their plans and handed him a packet of forged identification and tickets. They would be travelling to America, Hermione had decided. She had family there, on a farm in the countryside. They weren’t to use any magic between Sirius’ flat and her aunt and uncle’s farmhouse. Once there, they’d have to put up a complex series of wards around the house, which would allow them to practice magic within the perimeter undetected, as well as keep them off the radar, should these bastards track them that far. Harry made no mention as to whether or not Hermione seemed upset about anything, and Sirius didn’t ask.  
  
After sorting out the details, Sirius made his way to a familiar Muggle bar, intent on drowning his sorrows in whisky and women while he could. From the sounds of it, he’d be spending more time around Hermione than his defences could possibly handle. Perhaps staying with her relatives would help him keep his distance, he hoped.   
  
Unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately), the slow numbing effect of alcohol only made him feel worse about himself. The flirting and body language games that were once as easy as breathing felt hollow and embarrassing, and the minute he felt those foreign fingers slip rather brazenly up his thigh, he thought he was going to be sick. He could almost hear James’ derisive chuckle, Lily’s disapproving ‘ _Again, Sirius?_ ’ and Remus murmuring about how he’ll never change. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.   
  
 _Fucking brilliant - that’s exactly the bullshit that got you here in the first place, Pads,_ he’d thought to himself as he stormed down one darkened street after another, a jumble of emotions roiling inside of him. After what must have been hours, his steps slowed, his thoughts settling into a crystal clear introspection. And now he was here.  
  
His eyes stared out across the water, the lights of London twinkling prettily as the steady murmur of cars and city life whispered a muted backdrop of sound. He wasn’t good enough for her, would never have her. If he was going to bear that pain, Sirius thought, he’d make certain it was worth it.   
  
He would change.


	3. Chapter 3

  
The familiar metallic clang of Aunt Louise’s antique kitchen bell pulled Hermione from slumber, just as it had for the past ten days. Her eyes opened to the pre-dawn darkness and fell onto the empty cot across the room, just as they had for the past ten days. The routine wave of hurt and confusion, however, was steadily growing into anger, not only at Sirius’ blatant avoidance of her, but because meanwhile, in just ten days he had made quick work of fitting in quite comfortably with her distant relatives while she still floundered awkwardly.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave an unhappy huff as she pulled herself up out of the small bed. After quickly washing up, she pulled on a pair of cutoff shorts and a halter-top and headed to the kitchen to help her aunt make breakfast.   
  
Louise Ross was sifting flour into a large bowl when Hermione padded down the stairs.   
  
“Good morning Aunt Lou,” the young witch greeted softly, opening the large old refrigerator to start pulling out ingredients.  
  
“Mornin’ angel.” The elderly woman smiled, and with a painful twinge, Hermione was reminded of her recently deceased mother, Louise’s much younger sister.   
  
With a sigh, Hermione began unwrapping a large side of bacon while the cast iron skillet on the stove heated up. A moment later, the kitchen door opened and Sirius entered, bearing a basket full of fresh brown eggs from the coop.   
  
“Here you are, Louise,” he said with a warm smile, setting the basket on the counter. “Anything else I can do to help?”  
  
“No, no, dear boy,” Louise practically giggled. “’Mione and I have it covered. You just make yourself at home.”  
  
Sirius paused and Hermione could feel his sharp gaze on her, but she obstinately refused to look up from separating the bacon.  
  
“Good morning, Hermione,” he rumbled, causing a familiar ache in her chest. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes travelled of their own volition, first drinking in the sight of him in his well-worn blue jeans, then his perfectly muscled chest exposed by the button-down shirt that was hanging open, and finally his face – his full lips and strong jaw line, perfect nose, and steel coloured eyes that never seemed to miss anything. Hermione was startled to realize those eyes were looking directly into hers with something soft and almost apologetic, rather than the cool detached gaze he’d adopted nearly two weeks ago.   
  
She swallowed nervously. “Good morning, Sirius,” she answered, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. She caught a flicker of his familiar smirk and turned back to her task, cursing inwardly. The man had butted into  _her_  family, endearing himself to them with his goody-goody helpful ways while practically ignoring her this whole time, yet one glance from him had her nearly reduced to a puddle of goo.  _Perfect, Granger – you’re the picture of independence and strength,_  she thought with irritation.   
  
Sirius made a small clearing sound with his throat. “I’m, er – going to go wash up then,” he announced, and went upstairs.   
  
As the sound of his footsteps receded to the floor above them, Aunt Lou gave Hermione a nudge with her shoulder. “He’s a real keeper, y’know. Won’t catch any of these local boys fetchin’ eggs for the women at six in the mornin’ on a Saturday. Best not let him get away, dear,” she murmured as she began cracking eggs into the large bowl.  
  
Hermione whirled around, her hands on her hips. “Aunt Louise!” she hissed. “For the last time, Sirius Black is  _not_  mine to let ‘get away!’ Nor will he likely ever  _be_ , thank you. The man might get your eggs for you, but to the rest of the world he’s a perfectly arrogant, selfish, self-centred, womanizing arse!”   
  
“Whatever you say, dear,” Louise answered with a calm smile. “Don’t let that bacon burn, now.”   
  


~oOo~

  
  
“So what’s on the schedule for today, boss?” Sirius asked between a mouthful of flapjacks and a swallow of black coffee. His British accent sounded odd beneath the American phrases he’d already grown comfortable speaking.   
  
Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance.  _Why did he have to act so bloody…‘at home’?_ she wondered irritably.   
  
Initially she had been relieved to see Sirius making productive use of their situation; she’d worried that he would continue to brood and sulk, making their stay more of an imposition than it already was. Neither of them was exactly happy to be suddenly thrust into hiding in the southern farmlands of the United States, and while it was because of her, it certainly wasn’t her choice that he be dragged along. Especially given his cool regard of late.  
  
Since she awoke nearly two weeks ago in a curse-recovery ward at St. Mungo’s, her previously growing friendship with the handsome, dark-haired wizard had come to an inexplicably abrupt standstill. He was the last person to show his face in her hospital room, and couldn’t seem to get out of there fast enough when he did. His sudden distance from her had hurt far worse than any of her physical pains, but no one else seemed to notice anything different about his behaviour toward her. She supposed in the rush of Order members and friends, his absence didn’t seem abnormal to anyone but herself.   
  
Once she was cleared for release from the hospital, Harry informed her that she was to be sent into hiding until her attackers were safely rounded up and brought to justice. While it frustrated her and she loathed being told what to do, she had agreed, telling him privately that she would go to her relatives in America. Since her parents’ murders, her aunt was anxious to see her anyway.   
  
It was then that Harry had told her she wouldn’t be going alone, that Sirius would be accompanying her for protection. When she’d tried to argue, he’d simply presented her with two fake passports, identification, and plane tickets for them, pleading with her to just go along with it, saying that she was too precious to him to risk sending her alone, and that Sirius had already agreed.  
  
The inclusion of Sirius as her bodyguard had left her feeling guilty, uncomfortable, insulted, and, if she was honest with herself, more than a little morose since any hint of their previous friendship was lost in the cool politeness he maintained now. But, if she and Sirius had one thing in common, it was the near-inability to say ‘no’ to Harry. So there they were, an ocean away from home, hiding when they’d both rather be fighting.   
  
She and Sirius had barely spoken since their departure. He’d made it quite clear almost from the moment she’d awoken that he was only interested in interacting with her when it was absolutely necessary. At first, she couldn’t blame him, despite the fact that it hurt so much. Once again, he was sacrificing his freedom, torn from his world and the only family he had, and all because she’d made one stupid mistake, detouring to the Muggle pharmacy for deodorant of all things, and getting herself caught.   
  
However, as the days wore on at the Ross farm, he’d settled into a comfortable routine of helping her uncle and cousin, his warmth and humour radiating to the small family, while he practically ignored Hermione. The last time they’d shared more than a strained “hello” was when they’d first arrived and had to work together to set up a series of complex magical wards around the farmhouse.  
  
Hermione glared at her plate and poked at her eggs miserably. As if his coldness toward her wasn’t bad enough, now she felt like more of an outsider than ever. Little more than a week had passed before Sirius had managed to make himself more at home with her distant relatives than she had in a lifetime. He’d hit it off immediately with her cousin Jake the moment he picked them up at the airport in his battered red pickup truck. When they arrived at the farm, Sirius had made an indelible impression on her Aunt Louise as well as her Uncle Hugh, insisting on washing that evening’s supper dishes by hand before joining the men on the back porch for cigars, which he had smuggled past Customs with ease.  
  
From the first morning they were there, Sirius immediately set about making himself scarce to Hermione, but useful in the fields with Jake and Uncle Hugh, leaving her in a cloud of mixed feelings. She couldn’t help the niggling bit of envy and annoyance as Aunt Lou gushed over the handsome visitor who was ever so helpful around the farm. More than once the older lady had made ludicrous implications about Sirius being “a real keeper” and that Hermione should “hang on to that one.”  
  
 _Fat chance of that_ , she thought bitterly.   
  
She was pulled from her brooding by the comfortable conversation between Sirius and her uncle. Hugh Ross glanced up through bushy grey eyebrows and grinned in response to the wizard’s question. “Actually, nothin’ – with your the extra help now, we’re a couple days ahead, so you may as well take the day off. I’m headed in to town - gotta meet with the bookkeeper for the quarterlies, then see about borrowing that front loader from Jim Linkous.” He nodded at Sirius and Hermione. “You kids should ride down to the lake. We’re expecting storms later, but there’s plenty of time before then. Jake, that new mare’s a sweet one, she’ll be fine for ‘Mione.”  
  
Hermione’s cousin Jake snorted over his coffee and muttered, “Yeah, right.”  
  
The phone rang just then and Hugh answered it in the living room, leaving Jake, Hermione, and Sirius alone at the large old trestle table.  
  
Hermione scowled at the table in silence until she felt a nudge at her side. She looked over at Sirius who was watching her with his eyebrows raised.   
  
“What do you think?” he asked. It was his first truly friendly gesture towards her since they’d left London, and Hermione felt her heart jump slightly at the familiar warmth that had returned to his grey eyes. She’d missed him so much…  
  
Before she could answer, Jake interrupted her. “She’s afraid of horses,” he said with a smirk.   
  
“I am not!” Hermione snapped. “I’m just not… comfortable on them, and animals can sense that,” she muttered petulantly, her cheeks reddening.  
  
Sirius gave her an incredulous look. “Let me get this straight - you’ve flown on the backs of hippogriffs, thestrals, a bloody  _dragon_ , you’ve handled unicorns, and I’d even wager you swooned over that centaur Dumbledore had teaching at the school. But plain old, everyday horses make you ‘uncomfortable’?” He chuckled softly in amazement.   
  
Hermione flushed angrily, her melancholy and hurt feelings momentarily forgotten. “I did not ‘swoon’ over Firenze, thank you very much, and flying on the back of  _anything_  is not my idea of fun. Every one of those was a life or death instance, and if you’ll recall, two of those times it was to save  _your_  bloody arse!” She stood and took her dishes to the sink, swishing her wand at them so hard that red sparks flew from the tip.   
  
“Easy there, tiger,” Jake exclaimed, still getting used to the idea of his cousin’s magical background.  
  
“Hermione,” Sirius pressed, “you’re a war hero, for Merlin’s sake – you fought in, and survived, the final battle against Voldemort – how can you possibly be afraid of a mentally simple, trained, four-legged ground creature like a horse?”   
  
Jake choked on his coffee. “Volduhwhat?” he spluttered, never having heard any of the details of the war his little cousin had survived.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Voldemort – he was the big bad guy in our world. Head of the magical terrorists, if you will.”  
  
“What the hell kind of name is that, though? Sounds like some kind of overpriced carpet cleaner.” He chortled. “No wonder he went bad - he was probably pissed at his parents.”  
  
Sirius waved his hand impatiently. “The point is, you should come with us to the lake. I’ll protect you from any equine wiliness.” He grinned teasingly.  
  
“Ah, that will be ‘come with  _you_  to the lake,’ my friend,” Jake interrupted. “I have my own little picnic planned with a hot little blonde from Floyd,” he boasted through a mouthful of bacon.   
  
“Hey, is it that bird from the bar the other night? Well done, mate!” Sirius grinned at the younger man’s nod.  
  
Hermione clenched her teeth slightly at the involuntary lurch of jealousy in her stomach. Granted, she’d turned down joining the men at Harlan’s, the local country bar, but she was certain Sirius’ halfhearted invitation was only extended out of politeness. Even more certain was the fact that she would have stuck out like a very awkward and sore thumb had she gone, whereas Sirius doubtlessly was a hit with all the locals, especially the women. To make matters worse, Jake’s reputation spanned at least three counties, yet women still threw themselves at him. With his all-American country-boy looks and cocky charm, it was little wonder. Hermione imagined with no small amount of bitterness the gaggles of idiot women who probably flocked around the two starkly contrasted yet equally charming and good-looking men.  _Well, not exactly equal,_  she amended before catching herself. Of course she’d find Sirius more attractive – he wasn’t her cousin. And any extra attractiveness she might find in him was tainted by the very “charm” that made all the other women chase after him like a bunch of senseless, dim-witted, weak-minded…  
  
Hermione shook herself out of her internal rant with a huff.  
  
“Well, that settles it,” she quipped sharply. “A day at the lake with a swotty old bookworm?” She clucked her tongue sarcastically before turning to leave the kitchen. “You’d be better off alone, Sirius.”  
  
“Told you she’s chicken,” Jake muttered smugly, taking his dishes to the sink.  
  
Hermione whirled angrily. “I am  _not_  chicken!” she gritted between her teeth.   
  
With an infuriating grin he turned to Sirius, who was watching amusedly. “Guess I’ll go saddle up those ponies for ya then,” Jake said, casting a challenging glance to Hermione before heading outside, the screen door of the kitchen banging noisily shut behind him.   
  
Unable to resist, Sirius smiled. “We don’t have to take the horses, Hermione,” he said innocently, but his silver eyes glinted teasingly. “Maybe your Uncle Hugh could drive us down there before he leaves. I’ll go ask him if you’d like.”  
  
“We’ll take the bloody horses,” Hermione growled, turning on her heel and stomping up the stairs to the one spare room she was sharing with the arrogant and obnoxious prat until they could finally go home.   
  
As she got ready for one of the last things she really wanted to do with her day, Hermione’s inner voice of sensibility was strangely mute. It was bad enough that Sirius had managed to fit in better with her relatives than she ever had. But to have this ridiculous taunt brought up in front of him… No, Jake had always bullied and teased her for her lack of adventure. It was a small irritation at most. Something about Sirius’ additional teasing pushed her, however.   
  
Angrily jerking a dresser drawer open, she rifled for the swimsuit her aunt had insisted she purchase. Sirius was right – after all she had been through, her fear of horses, or riding them anyway, was ridiculous.   
  
Hermione braided her hair into two long plaits to keep it out of her face. Then, pulling on a pair of jeans and a tank top over her swimsuit, she made her way down to the stables with a fierce determination.


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Sirius had just finished packing the saddle bags with food, blankets, and towels when he heard the screen door of the Ross’s old farmhouse slam, followed by the crunch of gravel under booted feet. He glanced up to see Hermione striding down the drive, her shoulders squared defiantly. As she neared him, she gave a bright smile that only he would know was forced.  
  
For the umpteenth time since she’d awoken at St. Mungo’s he cursed himself for his own idiocy. She was still angry with him, and he knew it. He deserved it, too. He’d spent the last two weeks trying so hard to distance himself from her despite their circumstance. All he’d managed to do, however, was want her more, and he wished like hell he could just talk to her again. He’d never so much as stepped a toe out of line with the young witch, despite his feelings. Why had it been so necessary to hide their friendship in the first place?  
  
Louise Ross suddenly rushed out of the house, calling after Hermione, another small bag of picnic items in hand. For a moment he was reminded of the finer aspects of Molly Weasley, who always fussed and made sure there was two of everything for everyone. His smile faltered at the unpleasant reminder that followed. Molly, who – along with almost everyone else, had so little regard for Sirius and so much protectiveness for Hermione. They made it seem like a cardinal sin for them to be alone in the same room together, much less be friends or anything more. That was why they’d hidden their friendship, why their dinners and late night conversations and excursions around London had been secret, why he’d pulled away from her, and why now he was filled with shame for having done so. They were worth more than that, even if they were never anything more than friends, and he’d sullied that by giving in to whatever judgments the others might have placed on them.  
  
Now, though, they were not only cut adrift from the familiar dynamics of their circle in England, but Hermione’s American relatives seemed happily convinced that if there wasn’t something going on between her and Sirius, it was only a matter of time. Jake harassed Sirius on a daily basis about her, and when Sirius finally retorted rather half-heartedly that he was old enough to be her father, Hugh Ross had been the one to speak up.  
  
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” the older man had said as they sweated in the July sun. He nodded in the general direction of the house and continued. “Lou’s seventeen years younger’n me. Besides, ‘Mione always did get on better with older folks. Too smart and mature for kids her own age, even as a tyke.”   
  
 _“Too nerdy, you mean,” Jake added with a snort._  
  
Sirius felt a twinge of annoyance. “She’s not nerdy, she’s just out of her element here,” he said in a slightly defensive tone.  
  
Jake looked up from the fence he was repairing and quirked an eyebrow. “Told ya, Dad,” he said smugly before turning to Sirius. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “There’s only one place to go on a Friday night in this town, and that’s Harlan’s. Twenty bucks says you’ll never get my little cousin to set foot in the place, much less dance,” he challenged. “Girl wouldn’t know a good time if it bit her in the ass.”  
  
Unfortunately, Jake had won that bet when Hermione declined Sirius’ invitation. The challenge was set in the wizard’s mind, however. Wager or not, he would pull the bushy-haired witch out of her shell. He knew she was more than capable. She used to go clubbing with the girls, and he’d even danced with her at Charlie Weasley’s wedding. Sirius liked the Ross boy, but he was growing tired of watching him harass Hermione. Perhaps against his better judgment, he was determined to prove Jake wrong.  
  
“Need a hand?” Sirius offered as Hermione approached him and the horses. He noticed her stiffen even more.   
  
“I think I’ve got it,” she answered brightly and approached Roslyn, the Ross’s newest mare.  
  
Sirius shrugged, knowing that falsely upbeat tone too well. “Suit yourself,” he replied lazily. Sticking his foot into a stirrup, he hoisted himself up onto a large chestnut gelding named Hector.   
  
Hermione licked her lips nervously. Then, clumsily mimicking Sirius’ movements she threw her self up into the saddle, settling in with a loud exhale. Just as she was about to say something however, a squirrel ran across a weakened branch in the large oak tree above them, causing it to break and fall - squarely across the mare’s dappled rump.   
  
Before Hermione could grab the reins, they slipped far out of her reach as the horse reared in panic. The shriek from the witch on its back only served to frighten Roslyn further, sending her off in a run, her passenger clutching desperately to the saddle.  
  
“Fuck,” Sirius cursed as the terrified animal took off with Hermione on its back.   
  


~

  
  
Hermione gripped the horn of the saddle for dear life and leaned forward, still unable to reach the reins that had somehow fallen over the horse’s head, dangling precariously in front of its legs. Spurred by the booted feet flapping thoughtlessly against its flanks, the mare sped to a wide-open gallop.   
  
Somewhere amidst her terror, common sense kicked in, preventing Hermione from screaming helplessly and further frightening the animal. Still, without the reins, she had no means of controlling the horse or stopping it. The horn dug into her stomach as she attempted to lay flush with Roslyn’s neck, hoping to at least prevent herself from flying off and killing herself.   
  
After what felt like an hour but was probably mere minutes, Roslyn slowed to a trot and finally stopped at the shore of a large lake.   
  
Hermione sat up, panting and nauseous. Her hands that were frozen to the saddle were at war with the terrified need to get the hell off this animal and onto the ground.   
  
Sirius arrived a short moment later. He dismounted and gently pulled Hermione from the back of Roslyn. His strong hands gripped her waist while she got her footing until she shoved him away, stumbling over to a clump of bushes and falling to her knees, retching.  
  
As she expelled her breakfast onto the forest floor, Sirius rubbed her back and held her dishevelled braids out of her face. When she finally sat back on her heels, eyes streaming and breathing heavily, he chuckled and shook his head.  
  
“You’re a Gryffindor, alright,” he said in an amused tone.  
  
Hermione’s head snapped around to glare at him. Humiliation and anger reddened her cheeks. “Nice,” she gritted through her teeth as she stood up, jerking away. “Brilliant. As if I needed your sarcasm to rub it in, Sirius. Thanks  _so_  much.”   
  
She stormed to the edge of the lake, pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off her boots. Knowing if she stayed any longer she’d only make more of an arse of herself, Hermione shimmied out of her jeans and dove gracefully into the water, leaving Sirius to watch in confusion tinged with want.  
  
Swimming vigorously towards the centre of the lake, Hermione sifted through her thoughts and feelings for the dark-haired wizard. She’d been rude to her only ally and link to her world. After everything that had happened, it was no wonder he’d wanted so little to do with her, and the one time he showed any friendliness to her, Hermione had bitten his head off.   
  
She knew she was overreacting to his jibe about being a Gryffindor. And even considering her sensitivity to Jake’s taunts, she knew her tantrum had more to do with Sirius than she cared to admit. His coolness towards her these past couple of weeks hurt more than she would ever let on, and not just for the loss of their friendship, but also for the little spark of hope for more that had been doused in ice water. Had he sensed that her feelings for him ran deeper than was appropriate?   
  


~

  
  
Sirius lay shirtless in the sun, his mind fixated on the witch he’d evidently insulted. She obviously mistook his remark about Gryffindor bravery as a sarcastic taunt, but her reaction was the angriest he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t help but admire how stunning she was when she was angry. The image of her face, flushed with rage as she began removing her clothes had immediately brought to mind other ways he might create a similar scenario with the witch.   
  
Sirius’ thoughts were interrupted as Hermione exited the water. He bit back a groan at the sight of her in her midnight blue, one-piece swimsuit. The garment was actually simple and fairly demure, but its wearer still looked like a goddess. Having freed her unruly mane from its braids, her wet hair fell in inky, springy curls around her face and shoulders, creating little rivulets of water that ran down the valley between her modestly covered breasts. A light breeze worked with the soaked material, causing her nipples to harden visibly through the fabric. Sirius licked his lips, grateful for the sunglasses that were hiding his eyes and their excursion over the witch’s perfect body.  
  
Sirius suddenly regretted his decision to come to the lake with Hermione as his desire for the brunette went into overdrive. He cursed silently. What the bloody hell was he thinking? This was the very reason he had distanced himself from her. Because as much as he missed her  _friendship_ , he still wanted her with every fibre of his being, and the slightly tense feeling now spreading through his groin was making it clear how bad he was at separating those two feelings. He gritted his teeth and tried to summon the image of Minerva McGonagall in a bikini.  
  


~

  
  
Hermione’s steps slowed when she saw Sirius’ face. He watched her wordlessly from behind dark sunglasses, but his mouth was set in a narrow line, and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. She realized with dread that she may have underestimated how deeply she’d offended him. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for his ire as she came closer. She couldn’t help but admire the sight of his muscled torso gleaming in the sun, his glossy hair shining blackly as it brushed his shoulders.   
  
Hermione bit back a painful sigh. After harbouring what she once considered to be a schoolgirl crush on the older wizard, she’d finally decided the only way to cure herself of him was to get closer to him. She’d figured that if they managed to become friends, eventually her attraction would diminish as she got to know Sirius’ flaws and irritating personality quirks. It was, after all, a simple matter of holding him in an unrealistic light. Perfectly natural, but terribly inconvenient when one found oneself fantasizing about a different wizard than one’s own boyfriend. Particularly in bed. And especially when one very nearly let the wrong name slip from one’s lips in the heat of passion. Hermione thanked Merlin she had only  _almost_  said Sirius’ name, the slur of consonants unrecognizable to Ron, but clearly a blunder nonetheless. From that point forward, Ron had grown suspicious and possessive of Hermione until she’d finally had enough and ended it with him.  
  
Unfortunately, her growing friendship with Sirius had only served to fuel her attraction to the older wizard. It was such a hopeless case, she’d simply resigned herself to hiding her feelings indefinitely. Times like this reminded her of how epically unfair it was, however.  _Why in Merlin’s name did he have to be so bloody good-looking?_  she wondered, frustrated.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Hermione blurted, after a moment of awkward silence. When Sirius only raised an eyebrow, she continued sheepishly. “I – I was just embarrassed, humiliated really, and… and I’ve never ridden a horse before and Jake always - ”  
  
“It’s alright, Hermione,” Sirius interrupted softly. “Believe me, I know better than anyone how stressful it can be to be around family.”  
  
“I had no right to take that out on you, though,” Hermione said contritely. “You’ve already sacrificed so much, and now you’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere with – with a boring, nerdy swot…” She shook her head miserably.  
  
Sirius tilted his head, his expression still unreadable. He patted the blanket next to him. “Sit down. You’re probably starving,” he said and began unpacking the saddlebags.  
  
Hermione grabbed a large fluffy towel and dried off before wrapping it around her waist and plopping down on the blanket a safe distance from Sirius.   
  
“I wasn’t being sarcastic, you know,” he said without looking up from the picnic he was laying out. “I don’t consider myself to be ‘stuck’ with you, and travelling overseas with a brilliant and beautiful young witch is hardly what I call a sacrifice. And,” he added, his lips quirking with amusement, “I think you’ve more than proven you are anything but boring, Hermione Granger.”   
  
Sirius glanced over the top of his sunglasses at Hermione, handing her a sandwich and some napkins. She was blushing, frowning, and chewing on her lip all at the same time. Anyone else would have looked utterly ridiculous, yet she only managed to look adorable and sexy. When her confused brown eyes met his, he smiled teasingly. “A nerdy little swot – yes, but we’ve long since established that, and it is one of the many qualities I find so very charming about you, love.”  
  
He laughed as her mouth fell open in mock indignation and she swatted him. “You’re just lucky we can’t use magic outside the wards, Sirius Black,” Hermione said, chuckling and suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks.   
  
“Yes, yes I am,” he said playfully with a sinful grin. “Otherwise I might find myself suddenly tied and bound, helpless to whatever horrible things you might think of doing to me, and that  _would_  be terrible.”  
  
Slipping easily into their usual banter, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Perv,” she accused, despite the blush that coloured her cheeks.  
  
“Perv?” Sirius gasped. “I would never think such things, much less say them! I think _you’re_  the perv for twisting my words around, you scandalous little minx. I was only referring to your treatment of me when I first came back, of course.” He grinned cheekily as he continued setting out their food and supplies.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” she sighed unthinkingly.  
  
Before she could backpedal, Sirius answered softly, “I know the feeling.” She glanced at him again. He was still hiding behind blackened lenses, making it impossible to read him.  
  
She licked her lips and asked, “What did you mean, ‘you weren’t being sarcastic’?”  
  
“About being a Gryffindor,” Sirius explained while unwrapping a sandwich. “I wasn’t teasing, you know.” He took off his sunglasses and looked directly at Hermione. “Plenty of people have irrational fears, but rather than letting it defeat you, you hauled yourself up and rode the living hell out of it.” He gave a little chuckle and shook his head incredulously.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, that was really brave of me,” she said sarcastically. “Roslyn took off after a branch fell on her, and I just held on for dear life until she stopped long enough for me to be sick.”  
  
“You  _got on the horse_ , Hermione,” he pressed. “Most people avoid their fears at all costs. Do you see Ron making friends with a tarantula?”   
  
Hermione snorted and reached for the container of iced tea. “And you?” she asked, “What’s your irrational fear?”  
  
Sirius stiffened. “I don’t have one,” he lied. “I didn’t say ‘all people’ have irrational fears…”  
  
Hermione laughed. “I hope you don’t play poker with that face! I would have never taken you for such a terrible liar.” She unscrewed the lid of the tea container and took a sniff, smiling at the familiar smell of Aunt Lou’s recipe before filling two plastic cups and handing one to Sirius. “Tell me,” she urged.  
  
Sirius pressed his lips together and considered her briefly. Slowly, a smile spread across his features. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Come dancing with me tonight at Harlan’s, and I’ll tell you.”  
  
Hermione blinked, then laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.   
  
“I’m not joking,” he said seriously. He took a large bite of his sandwich, then a swallow of the sweet, minty iced tea that had become his new favourite non-alcoholic drink.  
  
Hermione fumbled with the sandwich in her lap and frowned. “I don’t know, Sirius…”   
  
“Oh, come on,” he urged. “It’ll be fun. The music isn’t half-bad, and Jake won’t even be there to harass you. Just you and me, hey?”  
  
Hermione gave a nervous laugh into her plastic cup before taking a drink then asked in a sceptical tone, “Why would  _you_  want to take  _me_  dancing?”  
  
 _Because I think you could stand to get out more and have a little fun…_  “Because ever since we danced at Charlie’s wedding I’ve wanted to feel you in my arms again.” The truthful words spilled out of his mouth before Sirius was even aware they’d been spoken. Only when he saw Hermione’s eyes widen in shock and confusion did he realize what he’d said aloud.   
  
“Sirius…?” she asked softly.  
  
“I – I mean,” he stammered, grasping for anything to say that would rectify his blunder. “Well – er… why not? Why won’t you?” he demanded.  
  
Hermione looked down.  _Because I hate country music, because I’m a terrible dancer, because I don’t bloody fit in with these people…_  “Because I want to, very badly, and I’m afraid if I do I’ll just keep falling for you.”   
  
As soon as the words escaped her, she gave a squeak and covered her mouth. Slowly her eyes met Sirius’ as they realized something was horribly, terribly amiss. However, where Hermione felt panic at the notion that someone had either cast a spell on them or poisoned their lunch, Sirius saw a beautiful moment of opportunity.   
  
His slate coloured eyes narrowed and he gave a calculating smile. “You’re falling for me, you say?”  
  
No matter how hard she pressed her lips together, they wouldn’t hold the word back. “Yes,” she mumbled miserably. “But Sirius, don’t you understand? There’s obviously someone else here, someone who knows magic, or potions, or - ”  
  
He held up his hand to silence her. He’d had his suspicions about Hermione’s aunt from the start, and now he was nearly certain. If it was her doing, though, it was more likely to be a mischievous bit of matchmaking than anything truly diabolical. He’d been force-fed Veritaserum as a child more than once by his own family, and this did not feel quite the same. “Tell me a lie, Hermione. What’s your favourite book, for example?”   
  
Hermione thought of the least likely title. “ _Quidditch Through the Ages_.” She was genuinely surprised when the words came effortlessly.  _Not Veritaserum, then. But then what?_  
  
“Ask me something – something unrelated to us,” he said.  
  
Hermione considered for a moment. “Who was your favourite cousin?”  
  
Sirius grinned wryly. “Why, my darling Bellatrix, of course.”  
  
Having proved his point, the dark-haired wizard smirked and slid closer to her. “We have our wands, Hermione. I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” he whispered silkily. “Now, what were you saying about falling for me? How long has this been going on?”  
  
She grimaced, feeling distinctly like a cornered rabbit. “Years,” she said hopelessly. At his arrogant and triumphant grin, her temper flared.  _Two can play this game, damn it_ , she thought. Tilting her chin defiantly, Hermione asked, “And what’s this about wanting to feel me in your arms? Why is that, Sirius?”  
  
Sirius swallowed nervously, then grabbed his tea and took another drink in the ridiculous hope that it might drown his words and force them back down his throat.   
  
“I thought it was just – just appreciating a pretty young witch, but I kept wanting you more and more,” he answered gloomily.   
  
“For how long?” Hermione asked, her voice a near-whisper.  
  
“Ever since I got back,” Sirius admitted miserably, surprising both of them. He couldn’t look at her. Suddenly their little game wasn’t so much fun anymore. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.  
  
“Why?” The question came sharply from the young witch’s lips.  
  
He silently cursed her for the question that he’d be forced to answer. He closed his eyes and let his mouth do to the talking. “Because no one at home will understand. Because Harry entrusted you to my protection without realizing he was putting you in the hands of a man who is old enough to be your father, who has impure, unhealthy, and obsessive thoughts about you. Because to them, it’s wrong, and even if that shouldn’t be important, it probably is, and I don’t know how to change that. Because you deserve so much more,” he added finally, his voice almost a whisper.   
  
Hermione fell silent and Sirius’ frustration welled. His head spun with truths he hadn’t even admitted to himself, and that feeling of being on a tightrope was back tenfold. He took it out on her with his own question. “How do you feel about that, Hermione? What are you thinking now?” he demanded.  
  
“How do I feel?” she replied, almost calmly. “I feel angry that their opinions should even matter when I’ve struggled with wanting you for so long, Sirius. I feel – shocked, and incredibly turned on that you’ve been having – impure thoughts about me, I’m nervous and scared that you’re going to walk away from this without ever giving me the chance to feel you - all because of what  _they_  might think. And I’m thinking that I don’t know whether to curse or kiss whoever poisoned us,” she answered. “Do  _you_  feel it’s wrong?” she volleyed before Sirius could get another word in edgewise.   
  
Her words were still sinking in, spreading through him like an aphrodisiac.  _Wanting you for so long…. The chance to feel you_ … His instinct was to answer her question with a flirtatious quip about his own sense of right and wrong, but his words came out thick and sincere. “Everything about you feels right.”  
  
Hermione got to her knees and closed the space between them. They were both on their knees, face to face now, as close as possible without actually touching. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” she asked.   
  
When he nodded and answered, “Yes,” she sighed.   
  
“What do we do about this?” she muttered, unintentionally asking yet another question he’d be forced to answer.  
  
Everything he’d been telling himself was wrong or right fell silent as the soul-deep truth slipped from his lips.   
  
“We tell the rest of the world to sod off and spend our remaining time here not worrying about what they’ll think of us. I think you should let me kiss you now,” Sirius murmured in a low growl, his eyes darkening to the colour of gunpowder. “And,” he added softly, “I think I should make love to you many times right here on this blanket until the sky opens up and the rain comes.”   
  
“Would that be alright with you, Hermione?” he asked with a smirk, his lips ghosting across hers.  
  
“Oh yes, please,” she whimpered, shivering as he finally touched her, just a light caress of fingers on her arm.


	5. Chapter 5

  
She very nearly cried when his lips finally met hers. His kiss wasn’t forceful or demanding, yet he claimed her just the same with a soul-deep, slow and sensual grace. Firm but gentle, he sipped at her as his fingers danced up her arms, over her shoulders, to finally cup her face tenderly. It was she who parted her lips to him first, her tongue darting out experimentally to taste the faint mint flavour still lingering there, eliciting a soft moan from him as he pulled her closer and deepened their kiss.  
  
The motion caused her to fumble slightly, swaying into him, and she instinctively put her hands against his bare chest to catch herself. The sudden contact caused them both to gasp slightly, but Hermione found herself fascinated with the way he felt under her fingertips and instead of dropping her hands, she hesitantly slid them over his muscled torso and shoulders.  
  
Slipping one hand around to cup her neck while the other traced its way down her arm to her waist, Sirius nipped softly at her jaw line, grinning at the breathy little sounds she made. When he reached her ear, he growled in response to her touch. “Do you know what you do to me, witch?” he whispered, causing a shiver to travel up her spine. “Just your fingers on my skin… I’ve never…” he muffled his words in the sensitive flesh just below her ear, both hands on her waist now, tracing tantalizing patterns through the thin wet material of her bathing suit.  
  
He felt her stiffen slightly and pulled away, his grey eyes scanning her face intently.  
  
“What is it, love?” he asked tenderly.   
  
When she blushed and opened her mouth hesitantly, he interrupted with a faint note of amusement. “Are you nervous?”   
  
He immediately regretted his teasing when the flush to her cheeks deepened and she frowned slightly. “Yes,” she answered in a whisper.  
  
“But you’ve… done this before, right?” He knew she had, she’d been with Ronald for years…  
  
“Well, yes,” Hermione answered, sitting back on her heels now, pulling away from his embrace.   
  
“Then why - ?” Sirius pressed, confused. Realizing he was sounding a bit pushy, he added hurriedly, “We don’t have to – I mean, if it’s too soon…”  
  
“No!” Hermione blurted. “No, it’s not that…” Knowing he’d get an answer from her either way with the effects of the tea, she sighed. “I’ve just never really… enjoyed it.” She looked at the ground unhappily. “I’m afraid I’m just not very good at it.”  
  
Sirius blinked several times, incredulous. “You mean you’ve never… been satisfied? Ever?”  
  
“Well, no, I mean, by myself sure,” Hermione stammered. “Just not-”  
  
“Not with a partner,” Sirius finished softly. He bit back a smirk and a smart-assed remark about the ginger-haired git, commending himself on his sense of tact.  
  
“No,” Hermione affirmed with a hopeless shake of her head. “I-I want to be-”  
  
He held his fingers to her lips, silencing her, then took one of her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Come here,” he commanded. “Lay back.”  
  
She hesitated at first, then when he chuckled and tugged at her wrist, she complied, rather stiffly stretching out on the blanket, her brown eyes looking up at him almost apologetically. He lay down next to her on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and brushed a stray curl back from her forehead before resting his hand gently on her stomach.  
  
“Hermione, I want you to listen to me,” he began. “You… you’re fine. You’re incredible,” he gave a small laugh. “Just kissing you…” He traced her lips with his fingers, then paused, his grey eyes serious. “Making love isn’t about performing, kitten. Hell, I suppose it’s not even really about the sex – that’s what one-nighters in hotel rooms are for.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged because they both knew that of all wizards he would certainly know about that.  
  
“The sex isn’t the goal you work towards, it’s more like the incidental grand finale, what hopefully happens as a result of… of enjoying and – and experiencing,  _feeling_  one another,” he tried to explain, even though truthfully he had little experience in ‘lovemaking’ as opposed to ‘fucking,’ himself.   
  
Noticing her thoughtful, almost stricken expression, he swallowed. “When you touched me just then, just your hands on my chest… the way you – well, how it felt… that’s what I mean by experiencing one another. It’s more than sex, a hell of a lot more sensual, and I promise – if you let yourself go, let me please you, tell me what you want…” he paused, his eyes darkening and his voice sinfully determined, “I’ll make sure you ‘enjoy’ it.”  
  
Hermione leaned up on her elbows then, her eyes dark with understanding of what he’d said. When she leaned up to kiss him, however, he paused, lingering just a breath from her lips, stroking his jaw lightly against her cheek. He heard her breathing in uneven little gasps as she moved against him, relishing the sensation.   
  
“That,” he rasped softly. “You feel that?”  
  
“Yes,” she whispered in return, a small desperate grimace forming between her brows.   
  
His lips returned to hers, still barely brushing against her, teasing as he murmured, “That is what I mean.”  
  
Her lips quivered and she swooned drunkenly. “Oh, yes,” she breathed.  
  
“Do you trust me, Hermione?”  
  
Again, “Yes.”  
  
He rewarded her with a tantalizingly slow, all-consuming kiss, nipping gently at her lower lip before pulling away.  
  
“Then roll over,” he said with a sinful smile.  
  
She licked her lips hungrily but did as she was told, not knowing what to expect, but comforted by the truth that had slipped past her lips in answer – she did trust Sirius, wholly and completely.  
  
He drank in the sight of her swimsuit-clad body, laid out before him so innocently. The pink had already begun to show on her pale, fair shoulders and he recalled the bottle of lotion Louise had pressed on him as she packed their lunch.  _‘Now, you might be fine with that working tan you got, boy, but my little ‘Mione there will burn to a crisp if you don’t rub this into that fair skin o’ hers.’_  He reached for the unlabeled plastic bottle with the home-remedy sunscreen lotion in it and swept the mass of dark unruly curls off the witch’s back and over one shoulder, letting his fingers caress her soft skin along the way.   
  
He unscrewed the top of the little bottle and sniffed curiously, then grinned at the familiar but sensual smell of jasmine, orange blossom, and sandalwood, so similar to the perfume he’d catch periodically in whiffs from the intelligent young witch laying on the blanket.  _Home-remedy sunscreen indeed_ , he thought with amusement. As he poured a bit into the palm of his hand, it felt warm and silky and his skin tingled slightly. Hesitating briefly, he sniffed at the concoction again. For all of Louise Ross’s mischievous intentions, he didn’t want to drug Hermione into a stupor or manipulate her reactions to him. Inhaling deeply he felt a very faint wave of contentment wash over him. Deciding it was probably safe, he rubbed his hands together and started at the base of her neck, smiling when she sighed immediately at his touch.   
  
For a fraction of a moment, Hermione frowned curiously behind her closed eyes when Sirius smoothed his hands over her shoulders, then smiled in endearment as she realized the warm moist feeling was sunscreen. Her smile broke into a blissful sigh when his skilled fingers began slowly, gently massaging from the base of her neck and over her shoulders, leaving a warm tingling sensation in their wake. She inhaled deeply and caught the familiar and ever so appealing scent of lavender, sage, and leather.  _Strange smell for sunscreen_ , she thought absently, but was of no mind to complain, remembering wryly the time Sirius had left his jacket behind at her flat and how she’d secretly sat on her couch and inhaled that same scent in deep, delicious gulps. Now it surrounded her in heady waves as his hands worked their way in a perfectly innocent pattern over her exposed skin…  
  
‘Perfectly innocent,’ yet no less effective. He seemed to know exactly how deeply to press into her flesh and muscles, just enough to make her scalp tingle. Hermione couldn’t recall the last time anyone had given her a massage – maybe Harry in their sixth year? And then it was certainly nothing like this. While Sirius’ hands had yet to travel to any ‘inappropriate’ areas, the slow, thorough way he touched her was so suggestive, so sensual, she could already feel that familiar warm ache building between her legs that so rarely had ever come from even the heaviest of petting with other wizards.  _Oh, gods if he doesn’t start widening his path soon_ … Hermione thought desperately.  
  
She held her breath in anticipation as his fingers neared the edge of her swimsuit where it scooped along her lower back, then sighed disappointedly as he barely skimmed the edges then made his way back up, gently massaging along either side of her spine until he got to her neck again. This time, however, when he repeated his previous patterns he didn’t stop at the straps of her bathing suit but slipped underneath, cupping her shoulders in his palm as his thumbs rubbed out the tiny pink indentations left by the material.   
  
“Hermione,” he murmured, “may I-?” he asked, indicating the straps as he nudged at them gently.  
  
“Oh, yes,” she replied softly with a note of pleading, not seeing the smug grin her response elicited from the wizard.   
  
She wanted to shrug her arms out of the straps completely, free herself to his touch, but he merely slipped the straps down far enough to work more sunscreen into her shoulders and upper arms. He left them there, however, as his fingers smoothly kneaded and caressed their way further down her arms, softly stroking the delicate skin in the crooks of her elbows, wrapping around her slender forearms and wrists almost possessively before breaking away to focus all attention on each of her hands individually.  _Dear Merlin_ , she exclaimed silently to herself, as he slowly stroked along each digit suggestively. Who would have ever thought having one’s hands massaged would be such a sensual experience?   
  
When he was done with her second hand, she was just about to raise up and roll over when Sirius pressed a hand to the base of her back, stopping her.  
  
“I’m not nearly done with you yet, young lady,” he rumbled in a tone that went right to her… well,  _there_.  
  
Suddenly she felt him shift next to her, moving away from her back and shoulders and down to her legs and feet. Hermione let her head fall onto the rolled up towel below her as he started in on one of her feet, doing things to her instep that should have been considered highly explicit if not downright pornographic for the things his thumbs made her feel. She gave up trying to hold back the little whimpers that kept slipping out and closed her eyes, giving over to just  _feeling_.   
  
Sirius smiled triumphantly to himself when he noticed the distinct shift in Hermione’s demeanour. While he thought it a great travesty that this incredible young witch had been so neglected by anyone else, he was secretly grateful that he would be the one to bring her on this journey. Her every sigh and subtle shift worked like a drug on him, slowing him down, feeding the desire to experience every moment with her as a delicacy.   
  
Her legs felt like satin beneath his fingers as he worked more of the lotion into them, the now-heady but delicious scent of jasmine, orange blossom, and sandalwood enveloping him. He kneaded his thumbs gently into the valley behind her knee, his hands smoothing slowly up the back of her thigh. He grinned wickedly when her legs parted oh so slightly to his touch, even though he was nowhere near going there yet.   
  
 _Wanton little thing_ , Sirius thought amusedly but his cock shifted at the notion of how responsive she was being to just a massage, and what awaited them when he was done being so ‘innocent.’ He suspected all it would take would be a slow swipe of his thumb along the underside of the seam of her swimsuit for them both to break. He could even make out the faint smell of her arousal… Biting back a growl, he forced his attention back to the supple thigh beneath his fingers. Unable to resist, he cupped his hands around her leg, mere centimetres from her warmth as his thumbs massaged up the back of her hamstring, then traced along the crease of her arse, still avoiding even touching her bathing suit, but only barely.  
  
He glanced up at her back, smirking at the balled fists at her sides and the slight arch of her shoulders as she panted unevenly. With Herculean effort, he forced himself to continue his massage, making his way back down her leg and starting with her other foot, taking care to maintain contact with her at all times.   
  
He followed the same routine with her other leg, tormenting her (as well as himself) when he reached the top of her thigh. When he finally reached her toes again, he asked in a ragged voice, “How do you feel, Hermione?”  
  
She was trembling when she replied, “Like I’m going to lose my mind.”  
  
“I’ll need to do your front now,” he said, helping her roll over, but was caught off-guard when she roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and attacked his mouth with her own, causing him to lose his balance and topple over onto the blanket.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” she threatened when she broke away, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he whispered inches from her mouth, piercing her with his stormy gaze as his hands firmly held her waist, thumbs moving in little circles. “Don’t you like being massaged?”  
  
“I – I do,” Hermione stammered shyly as the words forced their way past her lips. “But you’re tormenting me, when you said you’d make love to me.”   
  
His eyes tenderly traced her features, an adoring smile playing across his lips at the almost petulant way she chewed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes huge and desperate. As much as he wanted to just take her right there and then, however, he’d resolved to make her feel more than she’d ever imagined, more than she’d even read in those silly Muggle romance novels he’d once seen tucked away in that library of hers.  
  
“ _Tormenting_  you?” he chuckled lightly. “Patience, love. You  _do_  need to have sunscreen rubbed into that fair skin of yours or our day will be cut much shorter than I’d prefer. And… this  _is_  making love,” he insisted, teasing her lips with his as he gently moved her off of him. “Touching you… feeling your skin under my fingers… hearing the little sounds that sneak past your lips because of how I’m making you feel… the rest will most certainly come…” he murmured between tender nips and nuzzles, slowly urging her back onto her back as he found the weak spots on her neck… below her ear… on the crest of her shoulder. When she was fully stretched out below him, her hands clutching hungrily at his chest and shoulders, he paused and pulled back to look at her fully.   
  
“I won’t always have the patience to restrain myself, Hermione. Let me do this, now, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow at her.   
  
When she merely parted her lips uncertainly, he grinned wryly. “Or shall I start asking you to tell me  _exactly_  what you want me to do to you?” he asked in a meaningful tone, his eyes glinting wickedly.   
  
“No!” she blurted with a grimace.   
  
With a pleased hum Sirius smoothed his hands down her body, then leaned back on his heels to reach for the bottle of sunscreen again. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. Seeing how wound up she was already, he plotted his path and scooted down to her feet, starting once again at her toes.   
  
He gazed into her eyes with a predatory intensity but his voice was gentle. “Every touch just leads to the next, love. Close your eyes – just feel.”  
  
He watched her face, smiling at the way her breath caught and her eyes fluttered shut when his thumb pressed along the arch of her foot again before his hands slid up her calf.  
  
Sirius moved a little faster this time, but slowed when he reached the top of her right thigh, torturing them both again. Still he held himself back, like an addict who’d been given the topmost quality drug of his choice, relishing the  _want_  and not wishing to spoil the prize just yet. When he reached the top of her left thigh, however, he allowed himself just a tiny sample, letting his hand slide a fraction further up the silky flesh until thumb met swimsuit. The feminine sigh and slight shift under his hands invited him further: a slow sweep under the ridge of fabric, along that tender crease of skin where thigh meets pelvis, sliding closer to the warmth that was practically radiating from her juncture before he pulled away, only to move over her again, meeting her feverish kisses with a hunger he couldn’t remember ever having experienced. 


	6. Chapter 6

She needed  _more_ , needed him, needed him to touch her – oh gods, everywhere, and yet she couldn’t tear herself away from just his lips. She slid her hands up over his chest again, revelling in the way his muscles flexed as he balanced himself above her. As one hand curled around his neck, his hair brushing against the back of her fingers, so soft – softer than a man’s hair should be, she felt his hand travel once more up her body, cupping the curve of her waist as if she belonged to him, and finally -  _yes, oh yes_ , caressing her breast through the thin, taut fabric of the damnable bathing suit that still covered too much of her.   
  
Hermione arched into him, gasping against Sirius’ mouth as his thumb brushed over a hardened nipple. Still, it wasn’t enough. In a flash of frustrated determination, she broke their kiss, only to dip her head against him, nuzzling and nibbling along the masculine column of his neck. She smirked against his flesh at the quickening breaths that came from the older, more experienced wizard, and continued to tease her mouth along his jaw line all the way to his ear, while letting her fingers explore his bare torso more adventurously. When she took his lobe gently between her teeth, he dropped his head weakly, panting in response.   
  
Seizing her opportunity, she gave Sirius a mighty shove and rolled over on top of him when he tumbled to the side, a triumphant smile playing her lips. Instead of fighting her again this time, his slate coloured eyes narrowed hungrily, dropping down to where the strap of her bathing suit had slipped even further off her shoulder, pulling the material covering her breast down to a precarious level.  
  
Hermione sat up, straddling Sirius’ waist, the hard bulge in his jeans barely brushing against her backside, her awareness of it creating an aching heat in her. Her pulse quickened as he slowly reached up to where she was beginning to lose her swim suit, but she remained perfectly still, waiting. Her eyes fluttered slightly as his fingers lightly brushed her arm where the fabric lay in a useless curve.   
  
“Do you want me to touch you, Hermione?” Sirius asked silkily.  
  
Even without the potion-tainted tea they’d been drinking, she wouldn’t have lied. “Please,” she begged in a whisper.  
  
His other hand slid along her bare thigh and up her body, hooking fingers into the strap hanging off her other shoulder. Slowly, as if unveiling a long-anticipated gift, Sirius pulled the damp material down, exposing just the tops of her breasts until Hermione pulled her arms up through the straps, freeing herself and causing the fabric to roll further down until it hugged around her midsection.   
  
Between his stilled hands and sudden silence, she felt a flash of self-consciousness and looked away until she heard him utter one soft word – “ _Perfect_ …”  
  
When she looked back at him, his face held so much adoration Hermione blushed, this time with pleasure. No one had ever looked at her like that before, and when Sirius slowly lifted his hands and traced the outer curves of her breasts, she nearly cried – both at the gentle, almost reverent gesture and at finally, finally  _sweet Circe_ , feeling his fingers explore more than her blessed back and legs.  
  
As she arched into his touch, gentle caresses quickly gave way to firmer, more deliberate movements. Hermione’s eyes fell shut, her head falling back and a soft moan escaping her as his thumbs rolled across her exposed nipples. She gasped harshly when Sirius suddenly leaned up, laving one roughly with his tongue before taking it between his lips, his teeth gently pressing, sending a jolt to her core, while his hand continued massaging her other breast, pinching her nipple slowly, expertly working the puckered flesh. He slid his free hand around to her back, fingers dancing along her spine, slowly easing her swimsuit down over her hips, slipping beneath the material to cup her bottom.   
  
She clutched the back of his head desperately, wondering fleetingly how on earth he _knew_  just exactly what to do to her, his mouth and hands creating feelings and responses she’d never had before. With Ron, she had always felt like a doll, and not in a good way – her role more utilitarian between the sheets. What Sirius was doing to her, however… Hermione felt so alive, so  _right_ …  
  
She moaned again, pressing back into Sirius’ hand, the motion causing her to inadvertently grind against the hardness still encased in his jeans. With a low growl, Sirius sat up, still holding her against him, so that Hermione was now in his lap, her legs wrapped around his hips, his erection now pressed squarely against her heat.   
  
Her eyes flew open to meet his gaze, finding a liquid, hungry heat reflected back at her in their silvery depths. Her hands slid up his chest to encircle his shoulders and neck, causing him to groan as she grazed his nipples with her fingernails along the way. He responded by nibbling along her jaw line, dipping down to her throat while his hands grabbed her hips, guiding them in that ancient motion so intimate and delicious and beautiful… The friction of that hard seam of denim pressed so tightly between them and the acute awareness of how close they truly were to what she desperately wanted sent frissons of pleasure and desire through Hermione.   
  
“Sirius…  _please_ ,” she panted helplessly, unable to articulate anything beyond that for the desperate need she felt boiling within her.   
  
His hands left her hips to plunge into the damp mane of curls now beautifully mussed and floating wildly around her shoulders and face. His kiss was primal and possessive, and she met it with equal ferocity as he laid her down on the blanket once more, his lips never leaving hers.   
  
Sirius had taken his time with her plenty, but Hermione’s moans and pleas were like a spark to a drought-suffering field, and now he made quick work of removing her bathing suit the rest of the way, pausing at her feet only once she was completely naked before him.   
  
“ _Gods_ , you are so beautiful, woman,” he rasped as his eyes drank in the sight of this unlikely little goddess. For months now, his imagination had steered all of his shower-wanking fantasies toward visions of brunette curls, soft brown eyes, and curves he’d only occasionally glimpsed when the vixen decided to peek out from behind the conservative but classy façade of this prim little bookworm. And though Sirius prided himself on having quite a creative imagination, not a single inch of speculated flesh or thought-up sighs held a candle to the real thing.   
  
With a deep breath, he reined himself in from the sudden gut deep urge to pull out his rock-hard cock and plunge into her right there and then. Instead, he leaned in, covering her thighs in a trail of kisses and little bites, grinning against her flesh at the little gasps and mewls she made every time he nipped her with his teeth. He carefully avoided the neatly groomed treasure waiting at her apex, intending to save the best, or at least the second-best for last, as he continued his exploration further up her body. She wasn’t flawless by any stretch: there were scars he knew were from battle wounds, and the one just under her right breast that curved across her ribs he knew came from Dolohov. There were patches where her skin had seen regular sun and blossomed light dustings of freckles, as well as several precious little beauty marks. He wanted to pay homage to them all, but was distracted by the frustrated little sounds coming from his witch.  
  
Sirius raised his head from the swell of one perfect breast and grinned. “Is there something wrong, my love?” he asked teasingly.  
  
“Yes!” Hermione cried with a grimace.  
  
“What would you like me to do, then?” he purred against her neck, smiling as she writhed beneath him.  
  
Hermione swallowed and bit her lip, feeling the answer bubbling up from within her.  _He’s really going to do this to me_ , she thought , and closed her eyes as her mouth opened.  
  
“Touch me… I - I want you to touch me,” she whispered as she slid her legs along his. The sensation of thick, worn denim against her bare skin was intoxicating, distracting her momentarily from the knowledge of what she  _knew_  he was going to ask next…  
  
“And where do you want me to touch you, Hermione?” Sirius’ deep voice whispered against her ear.  
  
In a flash of heated defiance her eyes flew open and she grabbed his hand that was currently sliding along her waist. She guided it to the aching juncture of her thighs and glared at him. “There,” she answered pointedly.  
  
“Crafty little witch,” Sirius chuckled softly as he shifted his weight off of her, laying on his side next to her so he could better watch her reactions as he complied with her demands. “Perhaps I should tie those clever little hands of yours so you’ll have to answer me properly, hmm?” he murmured as he pressed his palm against her mound.   
  
“Would you like that?” he asked as his finger slid between her wet folds.  
  
The gasp that was wrenched from her was nearly a sob. “Yes,” she replied raggedly, unaware of what she was answering to, just that,  _dear Merlin_ , it felt so good, just that one touch… “Please don’t stop,” she begged.  
  
“No,” Sirius agreed tenderly, his fingers working in gentle rhythmic strokes over her clitoris. “So wet, love,” he whispered, trailing his lips over her shoulder and neck. “How does that feel?”  
  
“So… good…” Hermione panted, the familiar tide of pleasure rapidly swelling within her.  
  
“Can’t wait to taste you… to feel your hot little pussy around my cock…”   
  
“Please… faster…” she tensed, as if so desperate to push herself over that edge.  
  
Instead, his fingers slowed to more firm but deliberate movements, not enough to stop her, but just slow enough to cause the impending wave of ecstasy to sweep through her in a long, blissfully drawn-out crest.   
  
“That’s it love, let go… yes,” Sirius muttered as Hermione arched and bucked against him with a sharp cry. His hand, still cupping her sex was now soaked with her release as waves of aftershocks wracked her frame.   
  
When she finally calmed down, he gently pulled his hand away and licked the gleaming juices from his fingers with a groan. The sound caught Hermione’s attention and she opened her eyes and looked at him, an expression of awe and joy on her face.   
  
Sirius tried to smirk, but his smugness was outweighed by a deep sense of pleasure at having pleased the young woman before him. “Did you ‘enjoy’ that, Hermione?” he asked with a wry grin.  
  
“Yes!” she grinned cheekily in return, but her smile quickly faded to a hungry, determined look. She turned on her side to face him and immediately proceeded to attack him in a flurry of heated kisses and sharp little bites that felt like exquisite little lit matches tossed across his flesh. Before Sirius even registered what was happening, she had him on his back again, had made fast work of his belt and was frantically working on the buttons of his fly.  
  
Hermione chanced a glance up at the wizard’s face as she worked the buttons on his jeans. She could feel his erection straining against the material and licked her lips with anticipation. She wasn’t “broken,” or frigid, or defective, or subconsciously not interested in men, or any of the many things she’d worried about while having to fake her way through sex before. She felt like a landlocked boat that had finally been pushed into the waters of the ocean – so alive and eager to explore this beautiful man laying before her. This magnificent man who was watching her with so much adoration in his eyes, any hesitation she may have had was wiped completely clean.   
  
With a relieved breath, she freed Sirius from his jeans, smirking at the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath them.  _Why wasn’t she surprised?_  He lifted his hips as she tugged the jeans past his thighs and down his legs until finally they were tossed aside, leaving them both naked under the noon sun.  
  
She smiled shyly at him before focusing her attention on his legs, thinking of what he’d said about experiencing and feeling one another, and how utterly thorough he was with his attention. She’d never had that before, and certainly Ron would have thought her completely mental if she’d taken a sudden interest in the contours of his leg muscles, or the bones in his ankles. But that’s just what she was doing now. This was  _Sirius_ , the man over whom she’d suffered an adolescent crush, whose ‘death’ had been so utterly devastating to her, yet she’d had to bury the extent of her heartbreak because no one would have understood. And then he’d come back to them years later, perfectly fine, the whole veil mystery and Ministry debacle having been an elaborate cover-up for another one of Dumbledore’s missions. Sirius was  _back_ , and she was no longer a child and here they were, the rough hair of his bare legs tickling the tips of her fingers, muscles and bones and tendons so perfect beneath her touch as she explored her way up his body much the same way he’d done just moments ago.  
  
Perhaps it was foolhardy carelessness on her part, to be laying here in the Georgia sunshine ‘making love’ with her best friend’s godfather. But she’d lost so much – her parents, her home, and she’d quietly borne the loss of Sirius himself for four years. Hermione found she really couldn’t summon the care needed to approach this with caution. Whatever happened tomorrow or next week just didn’t matter right now.  
  
“What are you thinking about, little girl?” Sirius rumbled suddenly, an intrigued smile on his face.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly and smiled.  _Another bloody question to answer_ …   
  
“I was thinking about how I just don’t care about tomorrow,” she said dreamily as her hands drifted over his thighs, closer to the very generously-sized erection that bobbed slightly in the warm air. “And of how perfect you are. It’s hardly fair, really,” she added with a chuckle.   
  
“I’m not - ” Sirius was cut off with a sharp gasp as her fingers found him, first dancing lightly along his length, then back down to the base of his cock. Whatever he was going to say was lost as Hermione slid over his body, her tongue exploring his stomach and chest while her hand curled around his erection and slowly started to pump. It was maddening – her touch was almost innocent, curious and experimental, and at the same time so fucking sensual. She was incredible.   
  
When her lips, tongue, and teeth managed to discover how sensitive his nipples were, Sirius arched against her with a harsh growl, then suddenly grabbed her wrist, stopping her.   
  
“Hermione, no,” he rasped, panting. Gently, he moved her hand away as she sat up, a confused and slightly hurt expression on her face.   
  
“Why?” she asked.  
  
 _Because I want to please you first, to taste you…_  
  
It  _was_  the truth, but not the most immediate and honest answer. “Because…” Sirius swallowed, then quirked a sheepish half-grin. “It’s been too long and this will be over far sooner than I’d like.”   
  
With that, he sat up and eased her onto her back again, tenderly kissing her lips, jaw, and throat while his hands smoothed down her body. He looked into her coffee-brown eyes, admiring the golden little flecked rings he could see in those dark chocolate irises. “And because I still want to taste you,” he added in a low tone.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened at this, and she blushed. “But I…”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Well, we can’t use magic out here and I’m still a – a mess down there from… from what you did to me…” she stammered, cringing at the ridiculousness of her words.  
  
Sirius gave her a confused look, his brow furrowed. “And - ?”   
  
“Well I’m not, I mean… don’t you want me to be…”  
  
He slid his hand between her legs, smiling at the tiny gasp that slipped from her as her eyelids fluttered slightly. “Why would I want you to wash this away when that’s the best part?” he asked in an amused tone, easing himself down her body as her mouth worked silently. It was becoming more and more difficult to bite back the derisive remarks about her ex-boyfriend.  _Stupid git_ , he thought. Ron obviously had no idea what he was missing, and not a clue as to how to properly treat the treasure he had.  
  
Hermione worried at her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut as Sirius moved down between her legs. She wasn’t stupid – she knew men and women did this sort of thing all the time. She’d fantasized about it a  _lot_ , but Ron had found the idea repulsive, a chore that deserved high commendation when he bothered to even try it. She waited for the distasteful hesitation, the tentative parting of folds, the light pointed swipe of a tongue moving gingerly out of obligation…  
  
She inhaled sharply when what came instead was a sudden barrage of lips, tongue, and even a bit of nose, diving into her most intimate parts with relish. She opened her eyes, looking down to meet Sirius’ gaze staring back at her from between her legs, dark and intent with desire before closing as his tongue swiped along her clit, his ecstatic moan creating delicious little vibrations against her where his lips now suckled. He wrapped an arm around one of her thighs while his other hand slid along her folds, opening her up to him further.  
  
She closed her eyes again, exhaling a helpless but blissful sound as her head fell back to the blanket. This was better than anything she could ever have dreamed up in her fantasies. It was wet, so wet, and smooth, and pulsing, and  _oh, gods_ , he was fucking her with his tongue, and then back up to that nub of flesh to suckle.  _Yes_ , it made perfect sense, and perhaps that’s what it feels like for men, and,  _oh, Merlin_ , it was building up again, so quickly she didn’t even have to force it but instead in a flash of inspiration she focused very muscle in her body to completely relax into it so she could just  _feel_ , feel that spiraling, spinning rush of heaven coming at her full tilt…  
  
Sirius smiled against the sweet, tangy, wet flesh he was devouring as he glanced up at Hermione’s face. Her eyes were closed, her head thrashing back and forth against the blanket, and he was utterly delighted at the profanities that spilled in a mad rush from her beautiful lips. He was fairly certain she wasn’t even aware of what she was saying.  
  
He was also curious and rather impressed to notice how she’d suddenly relaxed her whole body against him. So many times witches tensed up nearly every muscle in their body before they even reached their orgasm. When he was much younger he’d once asked a partner why, and it was explained to him that it often helped ‘push things along.’ Now, though, as he swept his tongue along her opening and tasted the subtle shift in her chemistry as only a ‘dog’ could, he kept his eyes on her face, fascinated as she fell silent, her breathing now deep and laboured. Then, like the calm before a storm, he felt the involuntary spasms hit, shuddering deeply and slowly through her body as her release dripped steadily from her. Only then did her thighs tighten, her pelvis undulating of its own volition as she arched and gasped loudly, crying out his name.   
  
He had never seen a woman’s orgasm more beautiful.   
  
And still he continued, lapping at her juices, his tongue and lips more gentle to the touch yet still present and intent on giving her more. When she squirmed against him in protest, he tightened his hold on her, shooting a warning look up to the brown eyes and flushed face that panted back at him. When she relaxed in surrender, he rewarded her by wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking gently, laving his tongue across the tiny bundle of flesh. Then, ever so slowly, he pressed first one, then two fingers into her tight passageway, smirking in pleasure when she moaned in response and pressed back against him.   
  
His cock was painfully hard now, and as he felt Hermione respond to his mouth and fingers, he knew he couldn’t possibly last long enough to satisfy her once he was encased in that delicious sheath of wet flesh. He was practically on the verge of embarrassing himself right there on the blanket, so he was quite relieved when he felt and tasted the telltale signs of another wave approaching.   
  
“Hermione,” Sirius grunted, kneeling up, while his fingers continued their pumping, gently massaging the spongy patch of tissue inside of her.  
  
“Yes,” she answered, “yes…  _Please_ …” She moved against him meaningfully, her hands on his thighs now, gasping as he stroked his thumb over her clit.  
  
“I can’t protect you,” he murmured. No magic outside of the wards meant no contraceptive charm.  
  
“It’s fine, I’m covered,” she urged, pulling him to her.  
  
That was all the reassurance he needed. Slipping his fingers out of her, he stroked his cock with her juices before positioning himself at her entrance and slowly easing in to her tight slickness. His eyes flicked up to her face and he was captivated by her euphoric expression.   
  
“More,” she whispered harshly, her eyes half-lidded.  
  
He pushed into her the rest of the way and they both gasped. He paused and held her there for a moment, quite certain he was going to spill if she moved just a fraction of a centimetre.   
  
“Please,” she begged finally, trying to wriggle against him.   
  
Sirius narrowed his granite eyes. In such a small period of time, he’d grown to love hearing that word on her lips. He slipped his hand between them and swiped his thumb over her, just once, in a teasing gesture of supplication, but still he did not move within her.   
  
Brown eyes flashed defiantly and suddenly he felt her muscles tighten around his dick in an undulating, milking sensation, starting at her entrance and massaging all the way to his tip. His head fell forward.   
  
“Fuck, witch, what in the hell are you doing to me?” he moaned.   
  
“Stop teasing!” she demanded.  
  
“As you wish,” he snarled and drove into her with a fierceness that quickly pushed them over the precarious edge upon which they’d balanced for far too long.   
  
“No,” Hermione gasped when he moved to slip his hand between them again, feeling himself lose control. “Just… one more…”   
  
Her words were lost to a cracked cry and he felt her convulse around him, impossibly tight, tearing away his last thread of control. He bellowed her name as his release shuddered forth, his hips jerking erratically against her.   
  
When the last belt of tension had flicked itself from his body, Sirius let himself drop his weight onto his elbows, his forearms framing the face of the beautiful, flushed and breathless witch whose legs were still wrapped lazily around him. Speechless, he instead kissed her with all the nameless tenderness and adoration he felt bubbling within him.  
  
Hermione smiled sleepily and returned his kisses, letting her legs slide off from around him as she stretched, languorous and satisfied as a kneazle.   
  
Sirius chuckled at the expression on her face and rolled over, taking her with him and settling her over his chest as he slipped out from between her legs. He traced his fingers lightly over her spine and around her backside then up again.  
  
“Are you alright?” Sirius asked finally, for lack of anything more witty to say. He wondered vaguely what happened to his remarkable post-shag banter that used to appease witches just long enough to avoid any messy talk of feelings.   
  
Hermione hummed contentedly against his chest in response, leaving a trail of playful nips to his shoulder. Raising her head then, she frowned thoughtfully. “Hungry…” she mumbled, looking over Sirius’ head to where their picnic lay virtually untouched.   
  
Grinning affectionately at her, he tilted his head back and stretched, barely hooking his fingers into the saddlebag that held their lunch. “Of course, I’m afraid we are stuck drinking iced tea,” he said with a quirk of an eyebrow.  
  
Hermione snorted. “At this point, I’d venture to guess you have far more secrets than I do.” She went to move off of him but he held her in place.  
  
“I like you here,” Sirius murmured, smiling sexily. He fumbled blindly in the bag and pulled out a plastic container of mixed fresh fruit. Popping the top off with one hand, he reached in and pulled out a partial bunch of red grapes.  
  
Seeing his intention, Hermione grinned and shook her head at the little cliché.   
  
“Well I’m not going to peel them for you, love,” he laughed before pulling one off the tiny stem with his teeth and holding it there while pointedly tilting his chin up to her.  
  
Grasping his intention, Hermione lowered her head to take the fruit from him. He relinquished it and his tongue followed, curling slowly against hers as the plump grape rolled around her mouth, causing her to giggle as she pulled away.   
  
Her body seemed to be reminded of its empty state by that small taste of food, however, and her stomach grumbled noisily, prompting Sirius to take lunch a little more seriously. He reached back and felt around for a sandwich while Hermione continued nibbling on grapes, resting her elbows comfortably on his chest. After unwrapping it, he paused. Frowning, he gingerly lifted an edge of the bread.   
  
“What the…” he muttered in confusion.  
  
Glancing down, Hermione’s face lit up. “Oh!” She exclaimed, snatching the sandwich from him and sitting up. “Oh, oh, oh, OH!” She grinned gleefully and took a huge bite of her favourite –  
  
“Hermione, what the bloody hell is that?” Sirius wrinkled his nose at the unnaturally white stuff that was bulging from between peanut butter and what appeared to be sliced banana.  
  
“Meegmuh buhgnu brrnahger margthmaggwor fwerf…” she explained, grinning impishly through another bite as though every syllable made perfect sense while her cheeks worked at the sticky food. As an afterthought, she held out the sandwich with a ‘hm?’ to offer him a taste.  
  
“Err, no thank you,” he smiled blandly at the repulsive looking goo.  
  
“Chicken,” Hermione accused with a smirk, her voice still somewhat thick even after having swallowed the mess.   
  
She started to take another bite when Sirius snatched the sandwich out of her hand and bit off a large corner, glaring at her challengingly.  
  
Sneaking the rapidly shrinking sandwich back from his grasp, Hermione grinned as she watched Sirius’ reaction. She wondered if he could at all understand just how much joy she felt that her Aunt Louise still remembered her favourite sandwich after all these years. Her own parents would never keep anything as tooth-rotting as marshmallow fluff in the house, so it was always an extra-special treat that was made for her in secret by her aunt when they visited. It really  _was_  the little things sometimes. This one gesture made her feel more welcome and a part of the family than possibly anything else had in the last ten days.  
  
Hermione laughed in child-like amusement at the dramatic display Sirius made of trying to chew and swallow the sticky confection. The thought flashed through her head briefly that he’d someday make a terrific father, but she quickly doused that idea, knowing thoughts like those often lead a path to disappointment.  
  
“What the bloody hell is that?” Sirius choked, reaching for the container of tea.  
  
“I told you,” she replied charmingly. “Peanut butter, banana, and marshmallow fluff. Aunt Lou makes them especially for me.”   
  
“ _Especially_  for you? You actually… requested that?” he teased.  
  
“No, she just knows,” Hermione answered in a petulant tone. She took another bite of her cherished sandwich and made a face at him. Sirius simply grinned and made a mental note of one more little detail about the witch who was still straddling him as she ate her lunch.


	7. Chapter 7

  
As they lounged around on the large, faded blue quilt, Sirius was struck by two things.  
  
One being the realization that this was the first time in longer than he could remember that he’d taken a full day to simply  _enjoy_. Enjoy the weather, the smell of the air, the company of a beautiful woman, all without a constant shadow of judgment or regret hanging over his shoulder.   
  
In the many months since he’d returned, he’d done a lot of catching up, and much of it was filled with sadness or tension or both. It was always something - the guilt he felt over not having been able to fulfil his role as Harry’s godfather, or the stale and soured bitterness of finally getting to grieve the loss of his friends -  _his_  ‘family’, or the ridiculous yet no less tiring suspicion and criticism laid upon him by those who thought they knew what was best for Harry as well as Hermione. Not to mention the unhappy fact that, while the war was ‘over,’ there was always some new evil, some rogue group of dark wizards lingering on the periphery of life, just waiting to close in. While that last factor was the reason they were an ocean away from home at the moment, as Sirius took in his surroundings he felt a surge of gratitude at having even just one day to not have to think on it, to truly relax and breathe, and to have Hermione all to himself.  
  
The other thing that surprised and pleased him to no end was the effect their surroundings had on Hermione. He’d watched her since they’d arrived, feeling rather frustrated with himself for having put up a wall between them. The worry and unhappiness about their circumstance had hung over her like a damp cloak, accentuated by a general sense of awkwardness around her distant relatives, and he’d single-handedly managed to distance himself so much that he’d felt powerless to comfort her or help.   
  
Now, however, he could tell she was completely relaxed and at ease both mentally and physically, surprisingly uninhibited as they both lounged around nude in the sunshine. Sirius wondered with a note of concern if the sunscreen her aunt had packed wasn’t a little more ‘relaxing’ than appropriate. He’d hate to think their little halcyon day was more the result of a potion than their true feelings for each other.  
  
“What are you thinking about, Sirius?” Hermione asked lazily, although the smirk on her face belied the innocence of her tone. It was fair enough, he supposed – he’d done it to her.  
  
Taking a breath, he answered, “Oh, I was thinking of how amazing this day has been. I think it’s the first time either of us has been truly relaxed in a long time, but I’m wondering if our day here isn’t almost too perfect, and I am hoping like hell you haven’t been drugged into a sense of security with me that you’ll regret later.”  
  
Hermione blinked at him several times, then burst out laughing. “Really? Drugged, you say! Hmm. I suppose that  _could_  be an explanation,” she pondered sarcastically. “Because I cannot begin to fathom any other reason why I’d want to be rolling around on the ground with Sirius Black… Honestly, you sound like a girl, Sirius!”  
  
Sirius rolled his eyes slightly. “Alright, alright Miss Smartypants,” he waved his hand and stood up. “Here I’m supposed to be the reckless one, and the one time I get caught thinking cautiously…”  
  
“Where are you going?” she protested, still chuckling.  
  
“To clean up a bit. Surely it’s been long enough now to let me into the water?” he asked, referring to some silliness she was apparently taught that they had to wait an hour after eating to enter the lake.   
  
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. “Well as long as you swim with a buddy.”  
  
He grinned and held out a hand to haul her up. “Yes, I might need help with the hard-to-reach spots,” he muttered against her mouth before giving her bottom lip a small bite and a swipe of his tongue. He swatted her playfully on the rump and took off toward the water at a run with Hermione close on his heels.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
The Ross’s lake was secretly one of Hermione’s most favourite places on the planet. The water was always the perfect temperature with an almost unbelievably clean quality to it, especially compared to other lakes and natural bodies of water. On the handful of occasions she’d come to visit her relatives unaccompanied by her parents, she’d regularly sneak down the vague forest path by foot, not minding the hour-long walk because it would end with a swim in ‘her’ lake, undisturbed. Jake only liked water for fishing, and the fish in the lake were apparently too small to do any good, even if Aunt Louise allowed it, which she didn’t. So Hermione would escape, swimming or just floating around for hours. It always managed to centre and rejuvenate her spirit, washing away her insecurities and outsider feelings at least temporarily.   
  
As such, she felt a tiny wave of relief and happiness when Sirius’ head emerged from the surface with a growling laugh of unmistakable pleasure.   
  
Sirius grinned. “Oh, this is heavenly. You’ve been keeping this a secret,” he teasingly accused.   
  
“Damn right I have,” Hermione shot back, swimming a relaxed sidestroke around him. “This is  _my_  lake, and you have to earn the privilege of swimming in it.”  
  
“Is that so?” Sirius slowly began moving towards her.  
  
“It is,” she answered, steering herself just out of his reach.   
  
He smirked and disappeared beneath the water, stealthily reappearing next to her, slipping his hands around her waist. “So… what exactly did I do to earn that privilege?” he asked in a suggestive tone.  
  
Hermione gasped softly at the seductive feeling of their legs brushing against each other in the slightly cool water. Sirius heard, and his eyes narrowed as he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding up her body.   
  
“You made me feel,” she whispered, closing her eyes as he cupped her breasts. Her insides melted like honey in tea as he closed in to trail heated kisses along her shoulder and neck. She grabbed his shoulders as her legs drifted around in the water while he was tall enough to touch bottom. The gesture pulled her flush against him, and she could feel his hardness bobbing against her mound.  
  
Suddenly needing him more than she thought possible, Hermione wrapped her legs wantonly around Sirius’ hips. He stared into her eyes hungrily and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but no words were spoken. With a slight undulation of his pelvis, he was positioned at her entrance and they both gasped at their sudden readiness. He held her gaze and thrust, wrapping one arm around her back, his other hand holding her hip for leverage.   
  
Hermione curled her arms around his neck, the buoyancy of the water creating a completely new experience as Sirius guided her over his hardness.   
  
They went slowly, so slowly at first, taking full advantage of just being able to enjoy the feelings they were creating in each other. When she began gasping and wriggling impatiently against him, however, Sirius grabbed both her hips and rocked her against him to show her what to do, then simply let her take control until she found her completion, her muscles twitching around him as he rained tender kisses over her face. And still, he didn’t stop. With more self-control than he ever imagined he possessed, Sirius slowly pumped in and out of her until Hermione was begging him once more. Again, that word, that sweet murmured heartfelt plea from her lips tore his resolve and he took her, grinding and thrusting and again she shuddered around him, crying his name as he sucked and nipped the tender flesh of her breast until finally,  _dear gods_ , her body was milking his cock for all he was worth and he came, his vision blinded by a flash of light, it was so fucking  _good_ …  
  
They were floating, drifting. Dark blood red nothing at first, until Sirius realized it was the bright light of day pressing insistently against his closed eyelids.  _Did he pass out?_  Arms around his waist, precious body bumping against his…  _Hermione_. He squeezed at her, and she squeezed back.  
  
Squinting in anticipation of too-bright afternoon light, he slowly opened one eye, then another. Getting his bearings, he straightened his body and touched the sandy bottom of the lake. He glanced down at the brunette witch in his arms to see her squinting in the light, looking just as disoriented as he felt.   
  
“Did I fall asleep?” she mumbled.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sirius answered. “But did you feel that?” he asked, remembering with awe their joining.  
  
Brown eyes met his, huge and comprehending. “Yeah,” she whispered.   
  
Glancing down, Sirius noted with dismay the pink telltale signs of sunburn blushing through her chest and shoulders. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you out of the water and covered a little better.”  
  
After gently coating her with more sunscreen, they lay on the blanket, sated and wordless for the second time that day as the sun drifted in and out from behind an increasing number of clouds.   
  
Something about Hermione’s silence this time felt different, though. Sirius pulled her against him. Planting a tender kiss on her shoulder, he asked, “Are you alright, love?”   
  
Hermione turned with a wry smile tinged with sadness and took a deep breath in preparation for more truth. “Not exactly,” she answered.   
  
Sirius gave a concerned frown and sat them both upright. “What is it?” he asked, bringing her knuckles to his lips in a gesture that was quickly becoming one of her favourite endearments.   
  
She sighed, knowing he meant well but still feeling slightly manipulated by the effects of what she was certain now was the iced tea. They had both taken full advantage of it throughout their lovemaking as well as the times between, but the more difficult topics caused her ire to flare at their secret potion-maker.  
  
“I’m fairly certain I’m going to get hurt, you know,” she said, grateful his question was worded vaguely enough to not pull further details from her. When he opened his mouth, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “No questions,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “Sirius, you have a world full of beautiful witches at your disposal. I’m sure I’m not the last one you’ll be with, and since you asked, the truth is that I know it’s going to hurt eventually. I’m flattered that you wanted to be with me, and I am so, so very grateful that I got to experience this. But as for how you  _feel_  – what you feel in your heart…” She drifted off, shrugging hopelessly.  
  
Frustration welled within him. Once more his carelessness and reckless reputation preceded him. It was his own fault, but he would not let it win this time. He’d finally found the one thing he never realized he’d been missing all along, and he could feel his soul clawing desperately to keep it from escaping.   
  
“Why don’t you ask me what I feel?” he said with forced calm.  
  
A small melancholy smile touched her lips. “Because I’m scared - scared I won’t like the answer, and it’s too much – I don’t want to pull that from you unwillingly, no matter what the answer is.”  
  
“I think I’m in love with you,” Sirius blurted.   
  
He heard the tiny hitch of breath in her throat before she whispered, “Is – is that true?”   
  
“No,” he answered involuntarily, wincing slightly at her expression before continuing. “I don’t just  _think_  so… I know - I  _am_  in love with you, Hermione. I have been for quite some time now.” Sirius took a deep breath. “I only got around to realizing it once you’d nearly gotten yourself killed-” His voice cracked slightly and he paused, running a hand through his hair before meeting her gaze. He had absolutely no experience with this, never really having had a chance to fall in love before. Once he’d gained his freedom, Sirius had been quick to make up for lost time with the opposite sex the only way he knew how, and that was  _not_  by falling emotionally for them. While he knew of his feelings for Hermione for some time now, when he woke up that morning, he sure as hell didn’t expect he’d be spilling his guts to the beautiful witch by that afternoon. And yet, here he was…  
  
“Look,” Sirius continued apologetically. “I know this seems like an awful lot all at once, and for that I am sorry. I don’t expect anything in return, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get as far away as possible. I certainly did, at first. Because - when you were lying in that hospital bed, and no one was sure what curse hit you or whether you’d come back to us, I felt like the bottom dropped out of my world. I could barely breathe, Hermione, and…and at the same time there was everyone else, fretting over you and worrying as well, and I realized just how fucking insane I must be. I was certain I had no business thinking or feeling the things I do for you. So I tried – I tried to stay away, but damn it, woman - ”   
  
He broke off with a frustrated huff and shook his head hopelessly, forcing a bitter smile of his own. “I just… don’t want you to feel sad for the wrong reasons. I know what my reputation is like – so I want you to know you have no reason whatsoever to… to think it’s like that. You see, if anyone has to worry, it’s me,” he rambled. “Because I’m the hopeless old fool who’s besotted with a witch young enough to be his daughter. And who’s to say that eventually she won’t get bored and move on to some younger, more handsome wizard?”  
  
When he finally ran out of words, Hermione sat in shocked silence.  _‘Sad for the wrong reasons’ - ? ‘Besotted’?_  Her pulse had increased with nearly every word he’d spoken. She scanned his face for any signs of teasing or insincerity and instead found an uncharacteristically insecure Sirius, staring at a spot of blanket as he fidgeted with it.  _Oh gods_ , she thought, overwhelmed, searching for the right thing to say without throwing herself at him.   
  
Finally, with a small throat-clearing sound, Hermione answered simply, “Me.”  
  
When his grey eyes looked up at her with a cautious question, she repeated herself. “Me, Sirius.  _I’m_  to say that I won’t get bored or any of that other rubbish. Honestly!” she added in a failed attempt at a joke about the whole iced tea debacle. When he didn’t laugh, she wrapped her arms around the older but utterly gorgeous wizard’s neck and climbed into his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips. “It’s not an awful lot all at once,” she whispered, gazing into his silver eyes and feeling as though her heart would burst. “You were all I looked forward to, for months, really. I thought it was just that ridiculous adolescent crush coming back to haunt me, but I – it just wouldn’t leave me alone. Ever since you came back, Sirius, every conversation and every moment with you…” she broke off, shaking her head in disbelief, then shrugged. “I love you,” she said simply, kissing him deeply and smiling against his lips as she felt him hardening against her. If this was Sirius as an ‘old man,’ she was certain she wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him in his younger days.


	8. Chapter 8

  
As predicted, by five o’clock the rain finally arrived, the sky splitting open just as they reached their last climax, open mouths upturned in primal cries of ecstasy.   
  
Sirius convinced Hermione to ride with him on Hector back to the house, promising plenty of opportunities for her to overcome her fears with many more horseback trips to the lake together. They loaded their supplies onto Roslyn’s back before mounting the larger chestnut horse.  
  
The return trip took much longer than getting there, as they carefully picked their way through growing puddles and slippery mud. Neither complained however, as the undulating movements of the horse caused its riders to rub against each other erotically, the rhythmic friction building yet another wave of need between them.   
  
Sirius groaned into Hermione’s neck, “I think there was more than truth serum in that tea.” With his free hand he pulled her tighter against him as he suckled at the tender flesh just below her ear.  
  
Hermione moaned in response, grinding with need against his hardness as the familiar heat pooled between her legs. She was about to suggest they stop beneath the shelter of a large tree somewhere, when she felt Sirius’ fingers slip the button of her jeans through its hole, then tug the zipper down as far as it would go.   
  
“Wrap your legs back around mine, love,” he muttered into her ear. “Don’t want you kicking at the horse again and sending us on another run, hmm?”   
  
She did as told, hooking her legs behind his, the motion opening her wider to his fingers that were now sliding beneath the denim and dipping into her moist warmth. She came almost immediately, and was still shivering as the small stables came into view.   
  
Sirius quickly guided them into the shelter, dismounted, then pulled Hermione from the back of the horse. He ushered each beast into a stall, not bothering to unsaddle them before pulling Hermione to him and ravaging her mouth.   
  
She groaned, still flushed from their ride as they both fumbled desperately with each other’s clothes. He backed her against the rough wall and dropped to his knees, sliding the denim down over her legs and quickly latching his mouth to her aching pussy, moaning as his tongue lapped at her wetness. Still sensitive from her orgasm just moments before, Hermione’s knees buckled and she let out a sharp gasp. His large, strong hands reached up and held her in place, fingers spreading her cheeks slightly, slipping lower -first one, then a second pressing into her sopping cunt.  
  
“Oh fuck, Sirius – yes…” Hermione moaned huskily as he began slowly fucking her with his fingers while his mouth sucked at her clit. When she felt a third finger slide along her wetness then press experimentally into her smaller, tighter hole, she shuddered around him. In an incoherent frenzy of broken gasps she came completely undone, bucking against him while chanting his name and several obscenities.   
  
Before she could blink, Sirius was on his feet again, pressing against her through the combination of soft and coarse worn denim, his mouth still tasting of her climax. Hermione’s hands worked feverishly at the opening of his jeans, finally shoving them over his hips as he kicked hers away from her ankles, just enough to grant them access for what they both needed. His fingers dug into her as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around him as he drove into her with a growl.   
  
“So fucking tight, sweet one,” he murmured against her bruised lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever let you go.”  
  
“Never,” Hermione answered heatedly, feeling her insides tightening again. She clutched desperately at his shoulders and back.  
  
“Did you like my finger in your tight little arse, love?” he grunted with a hard thrust. “Naughty little angel…”   
  
“Oh gods, yes…” Hermione whined against his shoulder, reaching another crest as his movements became rougher. “Harder – p-please, Sirius!” She stuttered, just teetering on the brink of her orgasm.  
  
The little restraint he had broke loose. With a growl, he pistoned in and out of her as she cried his name, her muscles clamping around his cock, pulling him to his own completion as he bellowed his release, clutching her tightly to him and covering her dampened face in frantic kisses.   
  
As he gently eased her legs down from around his hips, Hermione began to giggle. Her legs slowly gave way and she slid to the ground, her laughs growing fuller. Sirius lowered himself to his knees as well, feeling slightly alarmed until he saw the expression of sheer giddiness on the witch’s face. He found himself chuckling with her until they were both laughing uncontrollably on the earthen floor of the barn. He pulled her into his arms and brushed the dirt off of her bare backside as she lay across his chest, catching her breath.  
  
“Alright, love?” Sirius asked as he tenderly stroked her hair.   
  
She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes, so dark now they were almost blue. “I’m wonderful,” she replied with a wide grin, feeling a wave of affectionate amusement at his repeated question. She was just about to tease him about his concern for her post-orgasmic welfare when the crunch of gravel interrupted her.  
  
“Sirius? ‘Mione?” Hugh Ross’ voice called from the open doorway at the other end of the barn.  
  
Both witch and wizard cursed softly and Sirius, being the one mostly clothed, stood and fastened his jeans, practically jumping around the side of the wall that was conveniently hiding them.  
  
“Yeah boss, we’re in here,” he said, walking down to the other end of the stable to intercept Hermione’s uncle and prevent him from witnessing the evidence of their indiscretions.   
  
“Ah, Lou said she thought she saw you two ridin’ back. Hope you didn’t get caught by the storm,” the older man said casually.   
  
“Well, we did actually – I was just about to clean the horses up and head to the house.”  
  
“Where’s ‘Mione? Did she do alright? She used to be a little nervous around horses…” Hugh inquired.  
  
“Right here, Uncle Hugh.” The witch in question appeared from around the corner with a sheepish smile. “I found a few ticks on me and I’m afraid I made Sirius check me for more. You know how squeamish I am about them…”  
  
Hugh’s sharp blue eyes darted from Sirius to Hermione, taking in their dishevelled appearances and bits of hay poking out of his niece’s unruly mane of brown curls. Unable to suppress his knowing smirk, he simply nodded. “Well, your aunt says dinner’s in an hour so you might want to think about washin’ up.” He turned and sauntered up to the old farmhouse, whistling softly in the fading evening.  
  
Hermione and Sirius simultaneously let out a loud breath and turned to each other. “They’re going to be unbearable, you know,” Hermione said, knowing full well her uncle wasn’t fooled.   
  
“Yeah.” Sirius grinned affectionately and plucked a piece of hay from her hair.   
  
Hermione nodded to the two stalls where Hector and Roslyn were still patiently waiting. “I’ll help you with them if you’ll show me what to do.”  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Louise Ross seemed busier than usual with dinner and house chores, but stoutly refused any help from either of her guests, shooing them out of the kitchen with a satisfied grin. “Did you two enjoy your picnic by the lake?” she asked as an afterthought, though her drawling tone was heavy with meaning.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened as the truth about her Aunt Louise hit her like a stunning spell. The older woman had seemed so unfazed by the bits of magic she and Sirius had performed around the house, but Hermione had brushed it off, since her aunt had explained that her mother had filled her in on the details of her background. Now, though, she suddenly understood better. “Aunt Lou!” she exclaimed. “You – you – but…”  
  
“No time, darlin’!” Louise interrupted. “Now, you and Sirius best just go on and get yourselves cleaned up – you look a mess!” she said with a smirk  
  
Hermione self-consciously smoothed her hand over her bushy hair and frowned incredulously as Sirius pulled her away by her elbow and led her upstairs  
  
“She’s – she… my  _Aunt Louise_ , Sirius!” Hermione stammered as they entered the spare bedroom. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Did you know about this?”  
  
“I… kind of had a sense. And then after today with the tea, I pretty much figured…” he answered sheepishly.   
  
Hermione plopped down on the small bed, dumbfounded.  
  
“Are you alright?” Sirius asked, sitting next to her and taking her hand in his.  
  
She shook her head slightly, dazed, then looked up at him sadly. “Mum said that Aunt Lou was sent away to stay with their great-aunt in America when she turned eleven. She never knew why, and never saw her again until their parents were killed in an automobile accident. That was before I was even born… I bet she even got a letter from Hogwarts, and they wouldn’t let her go.”  
  
Sirius gave a small smile and rubbed her back. “Well, whatever happened, she obviously did alright. I daresay she’s feeling quite pleased with herself after watching us dance around our feelings for each other for the past ten days.” He frowned suddenly. “And speaking of dancing, aren’t we supposed to be getting ready to go out tonight?”  
  
Still dazed, Hermione nodded absently in reply.  
  
“Brilliant!” He grinned and pulled her up, quickly ushering her across the hallway to the bathroom before she could reconsider. “You go first since you always take longer, and we’ll leave right after dinner.”  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Hermione had always thought cowboy hats looked silly, but when Sirius came out of the farmhouse in a pair of tight blue jeans, a black silk shirt, and a black Stetson hat, something ridiculously girlish in her was reduced to a quivering mass. They almost didn’t make it to Harlan’s in fact, but as they’d driven Uncle Hugh’s pickup truck, and neither had an American Muggle drivers license, and the ones Harry had acquired for them in England were fake, Hermione insisted they couldn’t risk pulling over to ‘park’ like a couple of randy teenagers in case they got caught.  
  
After an evening of dancing close to the ragged, earthy rhythms and raunchy wails of electric southern blues, however, her defences were worn to a thin unravelling thread. Sirius’ hand sliding up the tight denim seam along her inner thigh finally prompted her to swing the large truck off the one-lane country road with a jostle.  
  
“Hermione, love - ?” Sirius asked jerkily, quickly grabbing onto the ‘oh-shit handle’, as Jake referred to it.   
  
Hermione simply smirked and downshifted confidently. Maybe she was pants at horseback riding, but there was a reason her uncle entrusted his truck to her while her cousin was still restricted to his own battered vehicle. Like the tooth-rotting sandwiches Aunt Louise kept secret from her parents, Uncle Hugh had long ago taken great delight in covertly teaching his prim little British niece how to manoeuver the beast of a truck for a ‘proper’ four-wheeling experience. Not even her aunt knew  _that_  secret.   
  
Several more violent bumps brought them to a deafening silence as she cut the engine and the truck gently rocked to a stop in a secluded clearing under the stars.   
  
For a long, shocked moment, Sirius stared speechlessly at the young witch whose face was softly illuminated by the dim lights of the dashboard.   
  
 _Marry me,_  was the only thought his mind could seem to grasp, but he thankfully had enough sense not to say it just then.  
  
“It’s all about physics, really,” she began to explain. “Once you understand how the weight of the truck plays into the whole equation of you versus the terrain - ”  
  
He cut her off with a ravenous kiss, grinning against her soft, sweet lips as he eased her down on the bench set of the pickup truck. He marvelled silently at how bloody  _young_ she made him feel, young and randy and truly carefree. Even with danger looming and looking for them both, life seemed suddenly alright as long he had this beautiful, bright, and ever-surprising witch with whom to share it.   
  
“I love you so much,” he rasped, breaking away from her lips to taste the sweet-salty skin of her neck.  
  
“Sirius,” Hermione panted, pushing gently at his shoulders and shifting under him.  
  
“Mmm?” he responded, his attention focused on working at the little buttons of her sleeveless silk blouse. It was the same one she’d worn  _that_  night, the night he’d first fully realized he wanted the brainy witch. When he’d seen her leaning against her uncle’s mammoth pickup truck in painted-on jeans, high-heeled leather boots, and that same low-cut blouse, he’d known he was doomed.  
  
“Sirius,” she repeated a little more clearly, nudging him off of her. “Come on,” she said, scooting away from him and opening the driver’s side door.   
  
He frowned unhappily, knowing only that for some reason she was suddenly moving _away_  from him, out of his arms, and apparently out of the cab of the truck.   
  
Once her feet were planted on the soft soil of the clearing they were in, she turned to him and tilted her head. “Are you coming?” she asked.   
  
Even though her face was hidden in shadow, he knew her eyebrow was quirked in that know-it-all way that he found so sexy, as if it were an unspoken challenge or dare. With a soft huff, Sirius opened his door and stepped down into the tall grass. Before his eyes could completely adjust to the near-pitch darkness of the rural nighttime, his senses were jarred by the sudden metallic thump of the tailgate of the truck falling open. A slight creak followed, a sound he was well familiar with by now, indicating Hermione had climbed up into the bed of the vehicle, then the soft clop of her heeled boots and finally the tool chest that spanned the width of the truck being unlatched and open.  
  
“Ah,” she muttered in a pleased tone, “knew it.”  
  
By the time Sirius had joined her, the truck dipping briefly under his weight as he hoisted himself up into the back, she’d spread out the two large sleeping bags that her uncle apparently kept stored in the back.   
  
His eyes were fully adjusted to the dark now, and he was able to see the deep breath she took before smiling shyly at him. It amused him to no end that even after they’d laid their bodies and souls bare to each other, she still had these moments of bashfulness.   
  
“So, what are you trying to tell me?” he rumbled teasingly as he backed her against the large tool chest.


	9. Chapter 9

When they returned to the farm much later, Hermione espied through the screen door of the darkened living room her Aunt Louise sitting in her rocking chair on the back porch. A quick glance to Sirius told her he’d seen as well, as he nodded and crept up the stairs to their room alone.   
  
The springs on the old wooden framed door whispered softly as Hermione pushed through, easing it shut behind her so it didn’t slam. The head of silvery curls let down for bedtime turned to her and nodded as the older woman motioned to the vacant rocking chair next to her. Hermione frowned slightly as Louise Ross lit a gnarled old pipe filled with a sweet tobacco blend and sighed against the slats of her chair, clearly waiting for the inevitable conversation about her own magical powers.   
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” was all she could think of to ask.  
  
“S’pose I didn’t quite know how,” came the response. Louise turned her head and raised an eyebrow at her niece. “I ain’t like you, y’know.”  
  
Hermione let out an incredulous little breath and shook her head. “If you had any idea what I went through – the persecution and prejudice…” she said more to herself than her aunt. “I’ve feared for my life more than once, all because I was supposedly Muggle-born.”  
  
Louise turned and faced her directly then, her brown eyes flashing, so similar to Hermione’s mother’s, so similar to her own. “Ain’ no such  _thing_  as ‘Muggles’, child. Your ma and dad, my husband and son - ” she jerked an angry thumb to the house, “You, me, Sirius – we’re  _just people_. All this talk about separate worlds and separate Ministries and special schools – that’s exactly why my ma had to send me away, exactly what destroyed her own sister, what murdered your great-great-grandmother Tessa. All this separatin’ and considerin’ magic folk to be more special than those what got none. We’re all  _just people_ , ‘Mione,” she repeated, her voice shaking with emotion.  
  
“I – I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered, ashamed. “I didn’t know…” She’d never seen her aunt be anything but sweet and even-tempered before, and now she wondered how she’d tolerated her bratty little niece with a wand and special schooling for so long.   
  
“It’s alright, child,” Louise said, her tone softening. “I ain’t mad at you, for Pete’s sake! But I won’t have you goin’ on about this Muggle nonsense any longer, understand? Foolishness,” she grumbled, tapping her pipe on the arm of her chair. “D’you see folks separatin’ themselves because some can sing better than others, or cook better, or help the sick?”  
  
“We were always told if – if non-magic people knew about us, they’d be wanting our help for everything…” Hermione explained, feeling ridiculous as she heard the words leave her mouth.  
  
“And just what’s wrong with that?” Louise shot back. “God didn’t give you gifts just so you could hoard them away for yourself!”  
  
A flash of defensiveness hit Hermione. She never liked being reprimanded, for even the smallest of things, and now she was being dressed down for her entire way of life. Pulling her wand from her concealed holster, she searched around for something to use. Her eyes fell on the thick glass ashtray resting on the table between them. With an intricate wand movement and a wordless command, it was transformed into what looked like a glittering diamond the size of her palm. Seeing her aunt’s eyes widen, she held it out to her.   
  
“It’s not real,” she said with a smirk. “But it  _looks_  real enough to fool someone who wouldn’t know better. Someone who’d pay too much money for it before they could realize they’d been duped by a charm.”  
  
Louise’s eyes narrowed in consideration, so Hermione continued. “There are too many people in the magical world who would be too easily swayed by temptation, people who will never care about helping others more than themselves. And people who believe with all their heart that ‘God’  _did_  give them gifts because they were somehow superior to those without them. Those are the people who would use magic to enslave those without it because they believe it’s their right.”  
  
They sat in silence for several minutes. Louise turned the transfigured ashtray over in her hands, studying it for a moment. Then, cupping her palms around it, she closed her eyes in concentration. When she opened her hands, it was an ashtray again. She quietly set it back on the table, flashing a wry grin at Hermione out of the corner of her eye.   
  
“You were sent to America when you were eleven,” Hermione said.  
  
Louise took a breath and nodded. “That was when I got my letter. I’d never seen my ma look more frightened in my whole life.” She gave a sad little smile. “Thought it was me she was scared of, for the longest time. Weren’t till I was grown that my Great-Aunt Lisette told me the truth.  
  
“You see,” she explained, “Your Grandma Caroline - my mother, had a sister. Ain’ no one knew about her, though, ‘cause somethin’ bad happened. Don’ know exactly what, Aunt Lis would never tell me. But she was just a tiny thing when some folks saw her doin’ things they thought was ‘ _unnatural_.’ They were sons of the pastor of a nearby church. Took it into their own hands to try and ‘exorcise the demons’ out of little Isobel. Momma was the one who found her, the next day, locked up in a box behind the church.”  
  
Hermione gasped, the hand that had been covering her mouth as the story unfolded now wiping away tears. Louise glanced over, her mouth in a tight line.   
  
“She only lived for a couple years past that. She was broken, though – they put her in a special home. Aunt Lis thought her powers got the best of her, trapped up in that broken mind like that.” She shook her head. “The official report said the cause of death was a ‘freak accident.’”   
  
“No wonder your mother wanted to send you away,” Hermione whispered. “But didn’t anyone explain to your parents about Hogwarts? It’s the safest - ”  
  
“Didn’t matter,” Louise interrupted. “When my ma had me, her mother told her about the magic, that it was passed down through the women in our family, always one of two sisters.” She paused and gave Hermione a curious look. “Course, that’s only if the dad don’t have magic in him. I imagine your children will all have it… Anyway, it was  _her_ sister, Momma’s Aunt Lisette, who got it. And it was their mother, your great-great-grandmother Tessa McNeil, who was discovered by a local woman convinced she was bewitching her husband and seducing him.” Her wrinkled lips twisted in bitterness and disgust. “It was a small village, from what I understand, so of course bein’ a couple centuries behind the times was to be expected…  
  
“When Tessa McNeil was murdered, her husband only barely escaped with their two girls - took them away, brought them both to America. Grandma Alicia returned to England when she got older, married and had my mother and aunt. Lisette stayed here – she’d found her niche and a way to help folks. I s’pose after Ma lost her little sister Isobel, she was convinced the only safe place was where the only witch in the family managed to survive. And that’s how I came to be here,” she finished with a little smile and sat back, waiting patiently for the questions that would surely follow.  
  
“But where did you learn the actual techniques of it? Is there a school here in America?”   
  
“Heavens no,” Aunt Lou laughed. “Aunt Lisette taught me everything she knew, and much of that came from local Native American tribes and healers, folks who recognized what she had and weren’t afraid of it. I followed her around the country for a long time, went to a regular school, and then I met your uncle and we moved here.”  
  
“Where is she now?” Hermione asked, knowing that even if her great-great-aunt Lisette was a hundred years or older, she could still very well be alive, especially if she had magic.  
  
“Oh, somewhere in the Blue Ridge mountains, I’d wager,” Louise hedged.   
  
“You don’t even have a wand, Aunt Lou,” her niece objected. “You could do things so much faster, more precise… we can get you one when we return to London, and I can teach you to use mine in the meantime!” She was getting excited now, and Louise had to cut her off.  
  
“’Mione,” she calmly interrupted, holding up a hand. “No, sweetheart. That would be like… like giving a machine gun to a master archer and telling him to go hunt rabbits with it,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I do fine, dear,” she added, noticing Hermione’s disappointed expression. “Believe me. I just do things a bit differently from you is all.”  
  
 _Not that differently_ , Hermione thought, recalling the spiked tea as well as the discovery that the sunscreen Sirius had been slathering on her had its own ‘romantic’ properties to it. Starting with the sunscreen, which was actually more of a concern to Hermione at this point, she proceeded to grill her aunt about her little matchmaking scheme.  
  
“What did it smell like to him?” Louise asked in a conspiratorial tone.  
  
Hermione frowned. “He said it smelled like the perfume I wear. That’s how I knew, because it didn’t smell at all like that to me. To me, it smelled like - ”  
  
“Like him?” the older witch finished with a know-it-all grin.   
  
“You can’t do that, Aunt Lou!” she hissed, becoming more and more distressed. “That’s meddling with peoples lives and, and their hearts! I don’t  _want_  him under the influence of some… some love potion!”   
  
“ _Shh, shh, shh_ ,” Louise soothed. “I don’t make love potions, sweetheart. Don’ believe in that kind of rubbish – even if it seems to work, someone usually gets killed or mortally wounded,” she chuckled. “It was nothin’ more than a test, really – if it wasn’t right, he’d have smelled something less appealing. You both would have. I wouldn’t do that do my little girl, would I?” she chided, reminding Hermione with a bittersweet lurch that she was still family, that she still  _had_  family, even though her own parents were gone.  
  
“I miss them, Aunt Lou,” she whispered suddenly. It was the first they’d spoke of their loss since Hermione had had to make the call months prior.  
  
“I know you do, dear, me too.” A cool wrinkled hand found Hermione’s and squeezed.   
  
After a moment, Hermione slid her hand away to wipe at her stray tears and continued with her questioning.  
  
When asked about the tea, Lou simply smiled. “Oh, a little of this, a little of that – nothing spectacular, mind you, just something to open the door for a few minutes…”  
  
“A few minutes?” Hermione laughed incredulously. “More like the whole afternoon – what was it?” she pressed.  
  
Louise’s grin widened. “Really, Hermione – it was nothing but a short-term little draught – ‘Truth of Feelings,’ is what Aunt Lis used to call it.” She shrugged. “Only has a real effect for about ten minutes, and the more you drink it, the weaker it gets. Nothin’ dark or evil, I promise. Anything beyond that was all you and Sirius.”   
  
Hermione sat back in her chair in shock.   
  
“Told ya so,” her aunt muttered smugly before patting her on the knee. “You’re both adults, Hermione, and we don’t judge here. Just – cast a little silencing charm or whatever it is you do with that stick of wood you carry ‘round, hmm?”   
  
With that, the older lady hauled herself up out of her rocking chair and meandered to bed, leaving her niece on the porch still blushing, slightly teary, and utterly dumbfounded.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Hermione and Sirius lay wrapped in each others’ arms, the small twin-sized bed having been magically resized and the spare cot folded and stored away in the corner. The open window let in the sounds of Georgia’s summer night creatures - a symphony of frogs, cicadas, an occasional owl, and Sirius’ reminder.   
  
He took a deep breath and braced himself. “Crickets.”  
  
“Hmmm?” Hermione hummed, lazily tracing her fingers over the contours of his muscles and the lines of his tattoos.   
  
He gave her a little squeeze. “Crickets,” he said again.  
  
She looked up at him hazily, “Yes, what about them?”  
  
Sirius sighed. “You asked what my irrational fear was, and I said I’d tell you if you’d go dancing with me…”  
  
Hermione frowned, remembering. “Crickets?” she repeated. “The cute little harmless chirpy - ”  
  
“Okay, they’re not cute, they’re creepy, Hermione. Those long pointy legs and – and they’re all  _jumpy_ …”  
  
She gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t believe you,” she said bluntly.   
  
He shrugged, “Alright, so I grew out of being  _afraid_  of them, but they still give me the creeps. You can ask McGonagall when we get back – she’s the only one left who knows. She gave me a week of detention my first day at Hogwarts because I saw one in our dorm and tried to cast a spell to fumigate the room.” He added in a sheepish mumble, “Set Moony’s curtains on fire in the process.”  
  
He cast a hesitant glance at Hermione to find a dopey grin on her face. “What?” he asked, mystified by her expression.  
  
Her grin widened and she shook her head slowly before kissing him long and deeply. “I love you, Sirius Black,” she answered finally. “All of you. You didn’t have to tell me, you know – I secretly wanted to go with you to Harlan’s the first time you asked.”  
  
“Does that mean you’ll go next weekend too?” He grinned.  
  
“Will you wear the hat?” she asked shyly.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
There was no clanging of the antique kitchen bell. A bright sliver of late morning sunshine peeked through the slit in the gingham curtains and made its slow path across tanned, muscled chest until finally, brushing eyelashes that shadowed the cheek resting there, eyelids fluttered and squinted against the light.  
  
Feeling the female body in his arms shift slightly, Sirius smiled, inhaling her familiar scent, a happiness he’d never known filling him until he was certain he’d burst. He pulled her closer, nuzzling his face into her warm brown curls, the small kisses against his chest awakening other parts of his body. With a soft growl, he pulled her up to him, opening his eyes to the beautiful sight of  _his_  witch, sleepy brown eyes and wildly mussed hair, a satisfied smile on her lips.  _Oh the things those lips could do…_  
  
Without so much as a “good morning,” he claimed her mouth in a slow, smouldering kiss, guiding her body to lay atop his and grinning wickedly at her little gasp as his cock came to full attention.   
  
Suddenly she broke their kiss with a frown.   
  
“What time is it?” she asked in a whisper.   
  
The same worry that shadowed her pretty face crept into his nerves as Sirius realized by the light that it must be late – later than anyone in the house had slept in their whole stay there. It was quiet - too quiet. Something wasn’t right.  
  
They both moved quickly and silently, wands out and ready once they were dressed. A _Homenum Revelio_  indicated only one other person in the small farmhouse, seated downstairs at the kitchen table. It could be anyone, and it didn’t discount the possibility of others outside the perimeter. No one ever just sat at the kitchen table at the Ross farm, unless it was meals, which were taken together.   
  
Hermione glanced at Sirius, her eyes filled with worry, but also determination. He nodded, and slowly turned the knob, easing the door open on blessedly silent hinges. On bare feet, they crept into the hallway, each flanking a wall as they made their way down the stairs, both avoiding the one that always creaked loudly. When they were almost at the bottom, just out of view of whomever was waiting in the kitchen, they paused.   
  
“Ain’t polite to try and sneak up on an old woman, y’know,” Louise Ross commented wryly without looking up from her crossword. “I take it you two slept well?”  
  
Hermione and Sirius both let out a loud exhale.   
  
“Aunt Lou!” Hermione admonished. “Why didn’t you wake us? We thought the farm had been attacked!”  
  
The elderly woman chuckled and stood with a noisy scraping of her chair. “Hugh didn’t need help this mornin’ and we figured you two might be a bit – er… tired,” she answered meaningfully, smirking over her shoulder as she began puttering around the kitchen. “Bit famished too, I’d wager. Sit,” she added motioning to the table.  
  
The pink flush that was creeping up Hermione’s neck deepened as Sirius let out a bark of delighted laughter from behind her.  
  
After they’d had their fill of brunch, Louise cleared away the dishes, shooing off their offers to help. She refilled their mugs of coffee as well as her own before plunking down at the table.   
  
“Now,” she said seriously, folding her hands. “We need to talk.”  
  
Hermione and Sirius exchanged a look.   
  
Louise took a deep breath and gave her niece an apologetic smile. “Your friend Harry Potter called, dear.”  
  
“What? When?!” they both answered, almost in unison.  
  
The older woman bit her lip, looking suddenly like a sixty-year-old version of Hermione. “Actually, he called just a couple of days after you arrived. Said they’d cornered your attackers at Heathrow just after your plane took off, but it’d taken a few days to sort everything out.”  
  
“Aunt Louise!” Hermione exclaimed shrilly.  
  
“ _Hermione_ ,” Stern brown eyes narrowed on her niece in a rare display of authority. “Let me finish, child.”  
  
Sirius pressed his lips together to hide his amusement as he watched in silence.   
  
“Harry also said there was no rush in y’all going back, and I told him it seemed you two needed a little time to work somethin’ out.” She ignored the indignant little gasp from Hermione and continued with a smug tone. “He  _agreed_. Said when you figured it out to tell you he loved you both no matter what, and he just wants you to be happy.”   
  
Louise’s pointed look flicked between the two of them as she waited for their reactions.   
  
Sirius slid his hand up Hermione’s back as she stared down at the table, speechless, an almost imperceptible frown creasing her brow. He could almost hear her thoughts, and was certain they echoed his own. They could go home. But they’d only just found each other, and going back also meant facing a rather large group of friends and loved ones who might not share Harry’s sentiments.  
  
As if reading their minds, Louise spoke again in a gentler tone. “You’re not obligated, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. You are family, after all.” She gave Sirius a smile that told him that meant him, too.   
  
Hermione’s lips quirked slightly. “Well, I haven’t quite gotten over my fear of horses yet…”  
  


~ _end_ ~


End file.
